


Here on Earth

by ProtonBeam



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Ben is using an alias, Cunnilingus, Earth is a dustball, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, HEA Guaranteed, Interstellar Aesthetic, Just another sci-fi futuristic mashup, Loss of Virginity, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Premature Ejaculation, Rey Needs A Hug, Rey is a farmer's daughter, Smut, Soft Ben Solo, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Time Skips, Timelines converge at chapter 12, Vaginal Sex, Yes Ben is alive, Young Love, awkward virgins, for reasons we'll tackle later, non-canon compliant age difference, sweet reconciliation, they're both virgins, they're in LOVE your honour, this author has weird dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:56:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 136,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtonBeam/pseuds/ProtonBeam
Summary: As a newly graduated imperial cadet of the New Republic, Rey is ready to face the galaxy as its agent. Hopeful she can find peace among the stars. Freedom from the memories of the soulmate she’d lost 8 years ago. Her soulmate Kylo Ren who fell into her life out of the sky and disappeared just as mysteriously.When she was 18, she met her neighbour's nephew, Kylo Ren, who came to stay for the summer. The first time they touched, their soulmate marks sparked. What ensued was the best summer of her life until one day he vanished without a word leaving her alone and broken. With a soulmate bond that haunts her. Where did he go? Why didn't he come back?Imperial Log: Soulmates are a poorly understood human phenomenon that presents when two biologically matched beings touch. Rey and Ben found each other, this is their story…
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 272
Kudos: 299





	1. Waiting for a New Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> 

It’s hot. So hot it’s almost unbearable. Then again her armoured GxSuit is mitigating the situation. Still, it sucks having to breathe the recycled air in her helmet, or feel the confines of the graphene plates snuggled tightly against her. It smells stale and metallic. She’d love nothing more than to open her visor and take a breath of fresh air. Even if she knows it’ll be so hot it’ll singe her nostrils.  
  
Earth is so different now. Different from what it was in her parents’ day. Different than it was when she grew up. Shit, different than it was when she’d met Kylo.   
  
A sigh heaves in her chest unbidden. It’s the only reaction she allows herself when memories like this invade her conscious thoughts. When her treacherous brain dredges up a past it should leave buried. A past it absolutely _refuses_ to let go. Maybe, when she gets to the station she’ll go to the MedBay and ask them to excise the memories. It’s a new procedure and she risks becoming a vegetable if it doesn’t pan out, but it would be worth it. The chance at freedom from the memories that haunt her is worth losing _everything_ for. She’ll have to go there anyway to see if the doctors can do anything about the stupid mark on the inside of her middle finger.   
  
A hot wind sweeps across the landing pad bringing with it a fine dusting of sand. Rows on rows of graduated imperial cadets line the perimeter of the small base outside Coruscant. It used to be called New York, she remembers from a history module on her standard issue HoloPad, but that was before the Hundred Years’ War. Before they invented hyperdrives, extensive life support systems, HoloPads and graphene.   
  
Before the promises of space drove the hordes of humanity into the great unknown as long as they could get off the dust ball Earth had turned into. Those who stayed made their living either running the training and manufacturing facilities left, or farming to eek out a meagre existence. They used to say space was the final frontier. Now, it’s remaining on Earth. There’s little to nothing left for humanity here now.  
  
Her parents had been like that. Farmers. Staunch believers in a happy life on Earth, the epicentre of human existence. It’s how she’d met Kylo. But that was a long time ago. 8 years ago to be exact. Before her parents succumbed to a new strain of pneumonia 3 years ago in quick succession. Before she’d shuttered down the farm, signed over the plots to the Skywalkers for enough credits to leave for the city and join the cadets. There was nothing left in Jakku for her now. Nothing but painful memories between the rows of corn, between the walls of the old farmhouse, at the dried up creek, the old baseball diamond, the buried SUV. Nothing but heartache and loss.  
  
Her pack feels heavy on her back. Her only possessions compacted tightly into the vacuum resistant graphene knapsack slung onto her back. The straps burning into her shoulders as she fights tooth and nail to remain stick straight like the others. Her GxSuit armour, freshly fitted the week before keeps her body temperature constant. Keeps her cool. But she can feel the heat of the outside anyway. It beats down and heats her pack. Beats down on her helmet relentlessly which whirrs and coos to regulate her internal temperature, calculations about predicted weather blinking softly across her visor.  
  
Hundreds of years ago there were these crappily made movies they still sometimes play on vintage holo channels. One popular one at the time was called Star Wars. Some of the ‘historian’ cadets at the academy would laugh about how similar their GxSuits are to stormtroopers. Joked about how it was the inspiration.   
  
Rey thinks that’s a crock of shit. She’s seen Star Wars and there are very few similarities aside from the plating. These are black and polished chrome, not white. The helmets sleeker. The tech inside infinitely more advanced. Stormtrooper suits weren’t lined in nanobots or life support sensors. They didn’t have missiles in the arm compartment nor were they space-proof for up to 16 hours. They weren’t equipped with targeting microchips that guaranteed the hit. But she doesn’t say these things to them, _ever_. She keeps her head down and trains, eats, sleeps, and studies by herself.  
  
The cadets in the row behind her shift uncomfortably. Standing still too long in suits like this makes you restless. Because GxSuits were built for mobility, speed, power. The nanobots vibrate against your skin, keeping you ready to spring into action. They were _built_ for action and standing stock still is the antithesis of what they were built for. Standing _impossibly_ still, waiting for the imperial transport to take them to the H.O.M.E station.   
  
The ‘Humanoid Orbital Magnetospheric Exostation’. The one clearly visible in the sky. Earth 2.0, except it’s really just the terminal you reach before you head out to whatever sector you’re going to. It’s Earth’s new moon, the old one blown to bits during a war long ago. The loss of the organic moon threw the Earth’s oceans and orbit into a spiral so devastating humanity rushed to build H.O.M.E in an effort to mitigate the loss. It was too little too late. The tides had gone down, the weather had shifted to extreme, and the tilt forever changed the atmosphere. H.O.M.E is now the starting point. Where civilization is slowly trickling to while the planet dies. It’s where stories start. It’s where the words ‘once upon a time’ are written for each traveller’s journey.  
  
Except she doesn’t know where she’s going. Once she and the others get up there, they’ll be given quarters and assignments. Ones that can take them anywhere in the known galaxy. The universe. Some cadets never come back. She’s heard grumblings about some being sent to other galaxies to be never seen or heard from again.

Meh. She isn’t planning on coming back anyway. Not ever. There’s nothing left on Earth for her anymore. Her parents are gone. Kylo is gone.   
  
The best she can hope for is to get sent off on some faraway assignment, be given food and board enough to squeak out a decent life in exchange for her combat skills. Fighting for a half decent cause she can throw herself behind in the process. If the universe is kind, maybe a quick and early death so she doesn’t have to be plagued by memories of loss for the rest of her days.  
  
Speaking of which, they’re flooding her memory again. She heaves another silent sigh into her helmet. The visual acuity sensors give no signs a shuttle is nearby. Her eyes dart across to initiate a second scan but it’s dead quiet save for the sound of the arid breeze. Might as well let the memories wash over her. It’s not like she can stop them. Besides, her helmet will hide her tears. Nobody will know she’s in pain. Nobody will see she’s weak deep down inside, even if she’s bloodied every single one of their noses on the training grounds.

  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

It’s 0200 in the morning. H.O.M.E glows brightly in the sky above bathing the landscape in its blue-white reflection but she can’t sleep. Probably because she’d taken a nap amongst the corn fields earlier while she was supposed to check the irrigation systems. They were _fine_. Her father was a worry wart. He made her check them _every single day_ only for her to discover they were in pristine form. So she’d just started taking midday naps and checking the pipes every other day.

Besides, she’s 18 now, can make adult decisions, and one of those is napping.  
  
She’s curled up by the window on the bench, sketchbook balanced in her lap, her charcoal pencil hovering over the half drawn sketch of the night time sky. The flesh of her pinky finger stained black. What she’s really doing is staring wistfully off into the distance. Wondering what else is out there. Wishing she’d get to go up to the station one day to see what adventures await her. What kind of people she’d meet, what planets she’d visit. Wondering if there was one that was as green as the little oasis by the creek she’d found. One as green as the holoshows about long gone forests on Earth. Lush and humid, brimming with life.  
  
Her window is wide open, letting in the cool air of early summer. The scent of promised daytime heat sticking to it even though it’s the middle of the night.  
  
A flicker in the sky against the curves of H.O.M.E. draws her attention. At first it’s nothing, she thinks. A shooting star or her imagination. As it draws closer she thinks it’s one of the heavy freighters delivering goods to the nearest outpost. Then it draws nearer still and she can’t help but gape. It’s an unmarked convoy but definitely New Republic. Or at least it looks fancy enough to be New Republic issue. It hovers and lands a few miles away. With the flatness of the farmland around and her bedroom situated in the attic, she gets a clear view of it over the tops of the growing corn stalks.   
  
The ship lands right outside their neighbours' compound - the Skywalkers. Excitement bubbles in her chest, raw and unfiltered. An adventure falling at her doorstep of sorts. Nothing like this ever happens in her corner of the world and she’s itching to run over there right then and there to ask Jacen what’s going on. But that would be perceived as weird and ill advised. So she bides her time, sketches the transport into her landscape while formulating questions to drill her childhood friend with.   
  
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’ll go over there and see what that was all about.  
  
She can’t see much outside the floodlights of the transport, a flitter of movement and then nothing else. The transport only remains for a few minutes before it silently takes off back into the night sky. Towards H.O.M.E.

  
  


…

  
  


Rey wakes up at 0600 and gets dressed in record time. Pulling on her leggings, stained tunic and white gauze overlay that she’d shimmied out of the night before. She stuffs her dirty socked feet into her worn boots, quickly ties her hair into her favourite 3 bun style, runs her old and frayed toothbrush through her mouth haphazardly, then runs downstairs ready to unravel the mystery she’d witnessed the night before.  
  
The moment she wolfs down her two slices of cornbread and handful of raisins, the minute she’s gotten her task list from her father and a kiss from her mother she is out the door and on her speeder.   
  
It’s an old thing. An ancient clunker she’d found abandoned miles out in the arid deserts spanning the space between their farmland and the next outpost. A place where, if you were careful enough and well prepared, you could scavenge all sorts of useful items long discarded. At first she’d brought her tools out to where it lay, working hours on end sweating buckets and getting sunburnt. She dedicated weeks to travelling out into the desert until she got it working enough to ride it sputtering to the creek where she’d built herself a little work shed. Where she could tinker freely without her father pestering her about work needing to be done around the farm. About those stupid irrigation pipes.  
  
Now it still sputters and creaks but it rides smoothly enough to get her from point A to point B without crapping out. Since fixing it up, she uses it to travel further out into the endless desert, finding all manner of scraps to build, repair, collect. She’d converted the speeder to work on solar power so when she _did_ finally bring it home, her father had no qualms about letting her keep it. The clunker didn’t cost a single credit to fuel or maintain. It was her pet project and he was fine letting her have it as long as her work didn’t slip.  
  
Today though, today she was going to see Owen and Beru Skywalker. She’ll pretend she wants to hang with Jacen only to grill him about last night. Besides, if she times it right and presses Jacen just enough, she’ll be back to her farm duties in no time. Her parents won’t even know she’s gone.  
  
She wraps rags around her face and lowers her goggles, items she’d scavenged from her trips out to the desert, scrubbed clean at the creek. Enough to keep her skin safe from the dust and any bugs that might be buzzing about.  
  
Her speeder groans heavily then stutters down the dirt road through her father’s corn fields and beyond. To the border of their farm and onto the Skywalker property where they grew corn as well as wheat and a few other crops depending on what seeds they managed to get their hands on. It squeaks noisily as she maneuvers it around the corner to the series of modern domed huts they’d built, only for her to be greeted by the elder Skywalkers already at the front door.  
  
“Your father sent a comm to say you were coming,” Beru smiles at her gently. She was like a second mother to Rey. In fact, she’d known them all her life. Grew up with their son like a brother. The fact that her father already knew she was skirting her responsibilities to visit the Skywalkers not lost on her, though. She’d have to come up with a decent excuse for the diversion.  
  
“Come in,” Owen gestures enveloping her in a bear hug, “have some breakfast with us, will you?”  
  
Rey doesn’t reject the offer even though she’s already _had_ breakfast. She’d never deny food. Especially not from the Skywalkers. They always had delicious treats like real fruit, bread, sometimes butter or cheese. By Earth farming standards they were well off, rich even.  
  
Their compound consisted of one big dome and two smaller ones. Domed structures were far more preferable than classic style houses like her own family’s. They were weatherproof. No matter what the skies threw at you - be it torrential downpours, droughts, or tornados - the domes survived them easily. Homes like her family’s needed to be repaired after almost every storm and you risked losing everything if a tornado happened to drift the wrong way. But domes also cost a small fortune to dig and install, credits her family simply didn’t have.  
  
One she knew was Jacen’s. They’d added it when he turned 16 to give him more privacy. It’s where they’d hide out and play video games when they were younger. Where she’d school him at every game again and again until he broke the consoles and cried about them after. He was like that, Jacen, a bit of a pussy through and through. Been like that since she can remember.  
  
The big one was the main house. The other two she’d never been in so she assumed they were for storage or maybe chickens. Those were rare around these parts. Well, most animals were rare around here, livestock included. With the exception of bugs. There was _always_ a plethora of bugs.  
  
She walks into the main dome, the one she’s walked into hundreds of times. To her left the kitchen she’s sat in hundreds of times, long clean counters with shiny stone tops, a large kitchen table and sturdy sleek chairs. Beyond their living room expanded to an expanse of transparisteel windows, low sofas a HoloProjector and a fireplace. To her right a floating staircase towards the elder Skywalker’s loft bedroom. Jacen is perched at the table, all gangly limbs and short cropped hair. He looks so much like his mother it’s uncanny, Rey thinks.  
  
“Hey Jace,” she greets clumsily, unwrapping the rags from around her face and depositing them by the front door. They’re dusty and flecked with bug spatters from her travels. She’d rather not trudge her filth into the Skywalker’s pristine kitchen.  
  
“Hey Rey,” he greets back a little glumly. He looks tired. Exhausted actually. Like he always does when his parents make him do things he just doesn’t want to do but is forced to anyway. It’s the same expression and tone he takes on when his mother makes him apologize to Rey after he throws a temper tantrum.  
  
Rey kicks off her dirty boots and stuffs her socks inside, moseying over to her side of the table, the seat she always occupies, plopping herself down in the seat tiredly. Like she’d already completed a hard day’s work and is utterly famished. Like she hadn’t _just_ had breakfast with her own family or _just_ woken up.  
  
It’s a simple spread. Lavish for her family but simple by Skywalker standards and it makes her stomach rumble with want. Freshly baked bread, cream of wheat made with _real_ milk, butter, and blueberry jam that looks to be still steaming. Like Beru had _just_ finished making it. Beru brings her a mug of water and a packet of Vita-C. They always have cool things here. Vita-C is just one of the luxuries they always have on hand. A multivitamin powder they mix with water that tastes like ‘orange juice’. At least that’s how it’s described. Rey’s never had orange juice. She’s never had an orange, actually. She’s wholly convinced that if it wasn’t for the Skywalkers’ generosity she’d well and truly be all skin and bones, a malnourished shell of a girl.

She reaches out to scoop herself a bowlful of porridge and blows on it to cool it down before she burns her tongue. It would be a shame to not be able to taste it.  
  
“Jacen, why don’t you go check if Be-” Owen clears his throat, “ _Kylo_ is up. Maybe he’d like to join us for breakfast?”  
  
 _Kylo_? Who’s this _Kylo_?   
  
“You have a new farmhand?” she inquires over a particularly avid blow over her bowl, spoon stirring casually.   
  
“Aah, no,” Jacen says in passing as he scoots out of his chair, “cousin”. Like that’s supposed to mean something to her. She didn’t know the Skywalkers had family. They usually just kept to themselves or sometimes visited with her family. She doesn’t get to ask more because Jacen’s left the main house.  
  
“Be- _Kylo_ is my niece’s son,” Owen tells her when it’s clear her confusion isn’t waning. “He’s here to umm … get out of the city for the summer.”  
  
 _Why does Owen look uncomfortable?  
  
_ “Our niece wanted to give her son…” Beru puts her hand comfortingly on Owen's shoulder, “a taste of the country life. Teach him the value of farming. The value of a hard day’s work.” Owen releases a huff of air with that and reaches for a slice of bread. He slatheres a pat of butter on it and the way it glistens while it melts makes Rey’s mouth water.  
  
She had a habit of only taking when offered. Items she knew they grew and made on the farm were free for grabs. She knows they grow wheat and that bread is aplenty. But butter? No, that’s a luxury they must have paid handsomely for. She won’t take any unless it’s offered.  
  
“Here,” Beru offers her a knife and the butter dish, nodding towards the sliced up loaf, “have a slice.” She smiles at her the way she always does. It makes Rey feel a little warm on the inside. Cherished. Not that her parents don’t. It’s just nice to feel from someone who isn’t obligated to.   
  
Within seconds she’s balancing a hot slice gleaming with melting butter between her fingers, shoving it into her mouth until there’s no room. The fatty thickness of the butter is heavenly on her tongue, a nourishing treat for a depraved body.  
  
“Here we are,” Jacen walks in with a very tall boy around their age in tow. He’s taller than herself. Taller than Jacen even. He’s got long dark hair that’s sticking to his face oddly, like he’d just woken up. He’s got a big nose and moles everywhere and big ears that stick out from his sleep mussed hair. He’s got big red lips on a mouth that’s somewhat lopsided and dark glassy eyes. He’s wearing jeans that look too new for a farm and a black tank top that’s _too_ black to have ever seen a hard day’s work. His clothing highlights the big-ness of him, the frame he hasn’t fully filled out yet but seems to be working on. The beginnings of sinewy muscles developing on his long limbs. His arms are defined … most of him is defined actually. And he stops in the doorway like he’s just realized he’s walked into a trap.  
  
“Uh … I didn’t know you had…” he reaches behind to scratch his head while he stares wide eyed at Rey. At Rey who’s staring back at him equally wide eyed and mouth stuffed so full of buttered bread she must look like one of those chipmunks she’s seen in those nature holos.   
  
“Hi,” she waves goofily while the congealed gob of bread moves around in her mouth, muffling the attempted greeting. It’s a sad little croak of a hello what with the generous serving she’s masticating. A little sheepish even because she hadn't met a new person since the Skywalker’s last Farm hand. And definitely not a new person her age, ever. Not since she finished elementary school at the outpost.  
  
“Hi,” he blushes waving back with the long arm that was just in his hair, “I’m Be-”  
  
“Kylo, So glad you’re awake. How did you sleep dear?” Beru interrupts him.  
  
“Fine auntie. Better than I thought.”  
  
“Rey this is Kylo. Jacen’s cousin we were just telling you about.” she smiles at Rey then turns to Kylo, “Rey here grew up with your cousin. She’s practically family.”  
  
Rey nods in assent. Yes. She’s spent as much of her life here as she has at her own family’s stead. Kylo shuffles to the table to sit beside Jacen across from Rey. He smiles then and she notices he’s got crooked teeth and these big dimples. “It’s nice to meet you, Rey.”  
  
She shouldn’t be affected, but somehow she is. This boy ( _young adult_ she reminds herself - he’s a young adult because she’s not a girl anymore either) makes her tummy squirm like it’s filled with flies. Makes it constrict and _almost_ cancel out her hunger. He’s kind of cute actually like that, when he smiles.  
  
Rey doesn’t answer. She just swallows the gob of bread she’s been chewing on for possibly too long and grins back at him. She sees his throat bob on a heavy swallow then his eyes fall to the table where he frowns. Like the luxurious spread of food laid out was beneath him. Like the rich, spoiled city brat she bets he is.  
  
He sighs like he’s relenting something, like he’s accepting this bounty laid out before him as a sad snack. “This is breakfast?” His voice is laced with incredulity and a little scorn.  
  
 _He_ is why she’d come racing this morning. _He_ is probably what the transport dropped off in the middle of the night. Ugh.  
  
She says nothing more and wolfs down her cream of wheat avoiding eye contact completely.

  
  


…

  
  


She’d been right. He’d slathered his slices of bread in blueberry jam like it _wasn’t_ something to ration. Like it was just another condiment, not something precious and rare and nutritious. And he ate _a lot_. Like food wasn’t scarce. Like he was just having a snack. But he’d smiled at her while everyone made idle chit chat. Everytime he did that it made the flies in her stomach start buzzing and she’d look away to break the fuzzy feeling. She’d decided right then and there, at the Skywalker breakfast table that she didn’t like him. He made her squirm. That means her body must hate him. And he’s a snob. She doesn’t like snobs.  
  
It was stupid to accept the invitation to show him around the Skywalker property with Jacen. Especially in light of her having skirted her responsibilities for _this_. Even stupider to let Jacen run off to check on the moisture vaporators leaving her alone with him.  
  
“Dad’ll kill me if I don’t calibrate them before it gets too hot. Just…” Jacen is reversing, already jogging back towards the domes of their house, “show him around the fields and the property line. You know, give him the bearings. I’ll meet you back at the house.”  
  
 _Ugh_.  
  
Rey points at the rows of corn ahead with annoyance, “that’s the corn,” she points at the wheat fields to the right, “that’s the wheat,” she points to the left, “that’s going to be yam or eggplant. Not sure what they planted yet.”   
  
Her directions are the bare minimum, delivered with undisguised animosity. Kylo just nods and stuffs his big hands into the pockets of his unworn jeans, hunching his shoulders. He’s looking at his feet and kicking the dirt around. “Okay.”  
  
They stand in silence for too long. The morning sun starting to beat on their heads. _What an idiot,_ she thinks, wearing black out here. He’s going to boil before noon. Plus he’s _really_ pale, like pasty and his arms are exposed! He’s for sure gonna get sunburned. She _wants_ to feel bad, kinda does actually and wars internally with herself to offer him some sunblock. But maybe he needs to be brought down a peg, so she says nothing. Only stares at the neat line of corn growing up ahead.  
  
“So where do you live?” He asks the ground more so than her.  
  
“My parents and I live a few miles out that way,” she points towards her house indifferently, maybe a little disdainfully. In the general direction of her house you can’t see at ground level because of the corn stalks. Then again, he’s tall enough to still see over the young shoots so maybe he _can_ catch a glimpse of her house.  
  
“Cool,” he says nonchalantly, not really looking towards the pointed direction, but the tips of his ears are red. It makes the flies in her belly buzz again so she looks away. Out towards the empty field that’s currently growing one thing or another beneath the soil.  
  
“So, do you like…” he’s talking to his feet still, “is that your speeder?”  
  
“Yeah,” she beams, chest puffing out proudly, “that’s mine.”  
  
“You made it here on _that_?”  
  
 _Oh you stupid stupid spoiled city boy_.  
  
“Yeah?” she bristles, not missing his snobbish tone.  
  
“How did it not fall apart on you? It’s a piece of junk.”  
  
And that does it. First, he acts like the delicacies on the Skywalker table are beneath his royal highness’ overgrown feet, then he treats the special jam Beru made like it’s nothing more than plain old rations, _then_ he insults the speeder she’s spent weeks rebuilding?  
  
“Well … maybe … maybe _you’re_ a piece of junk.”  
  
His eyes shoot up all wide and apologetic. Like understanding only dawned after he’d said those stupid words. “What? I didn’t mean it like that … I just …” he’s babbling. Stuttering like the stupid overgrown baby he is.   
  
“Listen here mister I’m-too-good-for-farm-folk-city-boy, _I_ built that speeder. _I_ found it abandoned and made it work again. It’s _my_ work,” she huffs, cheeks red and burning hot, “maybe it’s not as fancy and polished as the pretty city bikes you ride but it’s _mine_.”  
  
She can feel the tears building behind her eyes, feel the fury that this bratty boy is building in her. No. She doesn’t need this. She’d agreed to show him stuff for Jacen but she doesn’t need to subject herself to his belittling. He may come from a fancier place, eat better food, have more credits to his name than she could ever hope to amass in a lifetime, but he’s _not_ going to insult her. With tears blurring her vision she turns to walk away. To trudge back to the house. Back to her speeder to get back home where she’s got duties. Duties she’d skipped this morning to be insulted by _him_. Pfft.  
  
His hand reaches out to grab her upper arm, to stop her from leaving. It’s so big it encircles her bicep completely with at least a knuckle of extra room to spare. She jerks roughly against his hold, an electric shock running through her and into the tips of her fingers. It burns hot on the inside of her right middle finger, right in the tender flesh nestled between her index and middle fingers. Like she’s burnt herself on hot metal.  
  
“ _Ow_!” they both yelp in unison. Pulling away and shaking their hands clumsily.  
  
He releases her arm quickly but his face is painted with utter shock, “I’m sorry Rey. I didn’t mean to …” his hand is shaking vigorously like she’d burnt him, “can ... can we start again? Can we … can we try to be friends?”  
  
She’s not sure why she stays or how it even happens. But she does. He draws her in like a moth to a flame. It’s how they spend the rest of the morning hiding from Jacen among the rows of young corn stalks talking.   
  
It’s how she finds out he’s 2 years her senior. How she finds out he’s from Coruscant. How she finds out he likes vintage photography and brought a solar DSLR with him. He’d explained how it worked and promised he’d show her how to use it sometime. Being a tinkerer at heart, the prospect of playing with a piece of working technology excites her tremendously. She’d rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet just shy of bouncing, giddy at the prospect.   
  
It’s where she tells him she likes to draw. To sketch and dreams of places that are green. Greener than the endless rows of corn or the little oasis by the creek. As green as the jungle holos of long gone forests. Where she tells him about her little hideout by the creek and her tiny work shed. Where she promised to take him because he could get some really cool photos there.   
  
It’s where she meets and falls in love with her soulmate. And doesn’t even know it until it’s too late.

  
  
The wind whips a tumbleweed across the empty landing pad as her heart stutters in her chest. Tears flow freely and her helmet whirrs, quietly wicking the moisture away with puffs of cool air.   
  
In the distance a shuttle is starting to come into view. The black mass moving closer and closer as it traverses over the arid desert outside the city noiselessly.  
  
On the outside, no one can see a thing. On the inside, her heart is breaking all over again.

  
  



	2. Morphing into Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _She’d started sketching him. The angles of his face, the haphazardly strewn moles, his bare feet, his large fingers and hands, his unruly hair. Her favourite was his profile. By the creek she’d always get a good angle with the way his legs would dangle and dip into the water over the makeshift dock she’d built. The way his shoulders would hunch and he’d bite his lip fiddling with the camera settings._
> 
> _What fascinated him the most were the bugs. Like he’d never seen them before._
> 
> _“You’ve never seen a dragonfly?” She’d laughed as he contorted his body to get close enough to snap a shot of said critter._
> 
> _“No,” his face was scrunched, biting his tongue in concentration. It was an endearing reflex of his, biting his tongue when he was concentrating really hard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't mind me ... just weaving in some info about how soulmate marks work in this AU.

The shuttle hovers over the landing pad before settling down gently. Rey mentally congratulates the pilot on their clearly superior skill. The landing is smooth and practically noiseless.   
  
As the ramp lowers she can feel the restlessness of the other cadets. Their GxSuits practically vibrating against the prolonged inertia. But she doesn’t move. Not a single one of them does. That would be ill advised and earn you a week’s worth of penalty plus a delayed trip to H.O.M.E. Especially now that all the superiors have flooded the landing pad. This is where you’re supposed to be at peak performance, the image of perfection, a unified front of obedient soldiers.  
  
Instead they watch as sergeants run around the shuttle, into and out of the base to scurry supplies and refuel the ship. From inside the base, the general strides out to walk the line in front of the cadets, sizing them up, ensuring compliance. Not a single one of them moves. Not a single twitch, not a single breath. They’re a single being with a single cause - frozen in place like statues being sized up for bulk purchase.  
  
As he strolls in front of Rey’s row, she’s acutely aware of just how much he looks like Kylo. Of course she knows it’s _not_ him, nor is this man related to Kylo. He’s General Han Solo. Husband of Leia Organa-Solo, the senator in charge of H.O.M.E. Celebrated war hero who ended the Battle of Empires. The battle between his wife and her predecessor.   
  
When Leia Organa-Solo won the election, the previous senator Sheev Palpatine, a dictator of a man, tried to use his private army to strongarm some of the established colonies and cities on Earth into supplication. To build an empire and overthrow the newly elected senator Organa-Solo. He had grand plans for total domination.   
  
General Solo led the forces against him 8 years ago and re-instated peace. It was a quick battle with minimal casualties. Only lasted about 4 months from what the holos said. Solo was ruthless and efficient. A man who didn’t want to know the odds but threw himself into battle like the world depended on it. His talking skills had placated some of the colonies that were on the fence, swung them back in the New Republic’s favour for the swift win.  
  
This same war hero is walking the rows now, watching, sniffing. Ensuring the cadets he sends up to H.O.M.E are the picture of perfection. Like all those he sends up before.   
  
Rey briefly thinks it’s a beautiful homage to his love. The Senator sends him empty ships and the General fills them with cadets like gifts. A beautiful dance between a married couple separated by hundreds of thousands of miles. So far away yet so close. She wonders briefly, as General Solo stands by her in profile, if they see each other often or if he hasn’t seen her in years. Her heart clenches at the thought of not seeing the one you love in years. Solo must hear or sense her suit working to regulate her heart rate because he turns to her tightly on his heel, eyes boring into her helmet like he can see clean through it. Like he can smell her sadness.  
  
A lieutenant trips over a refueling line drawing General Solo’s attention away. And thank _God_ because Rey was about to have a meltdown. The way he’d looked at her, she’d _seen_ that face before. No. She’s going crazy. She closes her eyes and takes in a few deep breaths, letting the suit work its magic to calm her down. He just looks a lot like Kylo. That’s what it is.   
  
When he turns back she’s fixed her eyes to a point beyond his shoulders, affixed to a wisp of a cloud in the sky. She’s focused, _so_ focused on keeping her mind blank his eyes pass over her like he wasn’t about to reprimand her. To correct her. Like he couldn’t even pick her out of the line. It’s not like she wouldn’t deserve punishment for that display. Her treacherous brain refuses to let a spare moment go by without dredging up Kylo.   
  
Kylo Ren. Kylo _Ben_ Ren who liked it when she called him by his middle name. Kylo Ren who doesn’t have records anywhere, like he never existed.   
  
It was the first thing she’d done after she’d joined the imperial cadets and moved to Coruscant. Her very first private minute as a civilian she’d gone to the city’s archives to search for him. It’s where he and everyone said he was from - it’s where he didn’t exist. No records of a Kylo Ren, Ben Ren, Kylo Ben, or any Ren. She’d even tried Kylo Skywalker, Ben Skywalker but there were no hits. Like she had fallen in love with a ghost. An apparition. Like her soulmate wasn’t real. Except that stupid infinity symbol etched into the flesh of her middle finger proves otherwise.   
  
“Cadet Leaders?” General Solo’s voice rings out loud and clear. Reverberates against the duracrete landing platform and carried by the infernal air. Amplified by the auditory enhancers in the helmet. He’s so loud she thinks they could hear him from H.O.M.E.  
  
It’s the moment some of them get to move. Ones like Rey. The ones that performed a head above the rest and earned the title of Leader. Her GxSuit vibrates against her skin, ready to move on command.   
  
“You’re with me,” he intones and turns to walk to the shuttle. Rey steps forward confidently as do a few others. The leaders fall in line and follow General Solo closely. They march in step. Not a single stutter. Not a single muttered word, step by step in synchronized stride like they practiced every morning for the last 3 years. Marching along towards the unknown … like Rey’s been marching since she lost her soulmate.

  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

Like a beetle drawn to seedling corn, Kylo hung out with her every day.   
  
At first the three of them would hang out together. Jacen, Kylo and Rey. They’d play video games, take strolls and tend to the Skywalker farm until Rey had to go back to her own duties. Every time Kylo would beat Jacen at a game sending him into one of his loss induced furies, Jacen would call Kylo, Ben. Rey would squeal in a fit of giggles and Kylo would join her as the enraged Jacen would kick things and throw the game controllers. He’d bluster and huff and turn bright red, swearing in all manners of colourful expletives before stomping out of his space.  
  
“Why does he call you Ben?” She’d asked once after Jacen stormed out of his dome in a huff.   
  
“Umm, it’s my … uh, my middle name.”  
  
“Your name is Kylo Ben Ren?” She asked, amused, still reeling from the way Kylo had slingshot in front of Jacen’s ship to win the race. “Y-yeah,” he’d rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.   
  
What a silly name. His parents must have thought it funny to name him Kylo Ben Ren. Then again, maybe she’d just been a touch jealous because he had three names where she’d only had one. Her father was a failed clone and only had a single name. From a clone factory that’s stopped manufacturing humans as fertility treatments at H.O.M.E began guaranteeing success. Her family didn’t technically even have a last name, simply taking on the last name Niima from the nearest outpost for ease of recognition and parcel delivery.  
  
Jacen would excuse himself more often after that, leaving them alone to go off and do his own thing. Like one of them, or _both_ of them annoyed him. At first it was little things like ‘ _going to check the vaporators’_ or ‘ _wanna ask mom a question_ ’. Then he’d leave for longer and longer periods, leaving her alone with Kylo. At first she definitely minded, their newfound peace delicate since her outburst and his apology, wholly dependent on annoying Jacen as a unified front. He made her feel funny inside, something she wasn’t sure how to make heads or tails of. But eventually they found themselves in good company. She’d even started enjoying their time together, though it took her weeks to admit it to herself.  
  
As the weeks progressed and duties at home began demanding more of her attention, Kylo started joining her at her family’s stead. At first he’d claimed he’d gone for a run and just ended up on her family’s farm. That quickly became a routine for him. Pretending to go for a run then milling about her property for the rest of the day. Eventually he’d just stopped pretending and started showing up dressed normally to work alongside her. He’d even begun staying later and later to the point where her parents routinely added a place setting for him at the table.   
  
He’d stay. Most days he’d even bring a little something for her mother to work into dinner. Sometimes it was potatoes, other times he’d bring milk or butter. Once he brought fresh chicken. Another time strawberries. When he’d brought those particular fancy treats he’d always blush extra hard looking at Rey.   
  
Her parents liked him. He’d listen to her father’s concerns about the state of the farm and help her mother in the kitchen. He also brought rare delicacies like they didn’t cost an arm and a leg. Shrugging nonchalantly at the thanks her family would bestow on him. That became routine as summer begun to manifest. He’d show up always bearing gifts.  
  
It was hard not to be affected by him. His bigness became the highlight of her day and they’d chatter idly working side by side, clearing weeds or repairing the moisture vaporators or checking the irrigation system. Telling jokes and sharing dreams, brushing shoulders and giggling bashfully when the flies in their stomachs buzzed a little too hard.  
  
He’d also started bringing his camera. The first time they’d spent the whole day playing with it, Kylo showing her how to work the camera, taking macro shots then switching out his lens to capture all kinds of landscape images. As time progressed he’d whip it out at random to take candids of her, letting her use it to capture him in return.   
  
One time he brought her a flower. Said it was a daisy. It was so beautiful she had to bite back tears. She’d pressed it between the pages of her sketchbook where it would forever remain. Another time he’d brought her charcoal pencils, a whole bundle of them, turning beet red while depositing them in her outstretched hand. Another time he brought her these long strips of fabric. “Arm wraps,” he’d said pointing to her tanned bare arms, “to protect you from the sun and against cuts.” Yet another time he brought her a little leather waist pouch and belt. “To keep your comm close,” he’d said. Like he wanted to make sure she was always available, always okay.  
  
By the end of June he was there from breakfast to dinner. Rey had even loaned him her speeder so he wouldn’t have to endure the long walks. She didn’t comment when it would arrive with a new seat, or new couplings. Nor when the rattling noises mysteriously disappeared or it magically began hitting new max speeds. These improvements were fringe benefits to having a friend like Kylo. A friend she didn’t even know she’d needed until he’d practically fallen out of the sky.  
  
Between the two of them they’d finish her duties in record time, usually rendering her free by 1100.  
  
Free to do things and spend time with Kylo who had wedged himself into her schedule and had become the best part of her day. Whose fleeting touches she both craved and shrunk from because they made the flies in her tummy buzz and that weird mark on her middle finger burn.   
  
With their newfound freedom they’d started piling onto the speeder and she’d take him to see things. Take him out into the desert to look at the various wreckage she’d found where he’d offer commentary or a brief history lesson. She brought him to the creek and showed him her little shed which he seemed to love most of all.   
  
They’d started spending a lot of time there, feet dipped into the cool running water sharing sandwiches he’d bring and talking. He’d take photos and she’d sketch quietly side by side.  
  
She’d started sketching him. The angles of his face, the haphazardly strewn moles, his bare feet, his large fingers and hands, his unruly hair. Her favourite was his profile. By the creek she’d always get a good angle with the way his legs would dangle and dip into the water over the makeshift dock she’d built. The way his shoulders would hunch and he’d bite his lip fiddling with the camera settings.   
  
What fascinated him the most were the bugs. Like he’d never seen them before.  
  
“You’ve never seen a dragonfly?” She’d laughed as he contorted his body to get close enough to snap a shot of said critter.  
  
“No,” his face was scrunched, biting his tongue in concentration. It was an endearing reflex of his, biting his tongue when he was concentrating really hard.  
  
Oddly enough, he’d never seen _a_ _lot_ of bugs. Was fascinated by all the beetles, ladybugs, dragonflies, crickets and even the tadpoles swimming in the murky pools of the creek. Since she’d brought him to her little oasis, his camera begun functioning only on macro so he could capture the critters every spare moment. It was insanely adorable and confused the hell out of Rey.  
  
“There’s no bugs in Coruscant?” she’d prodded.  
  
“Uh … no I … no.”  
  
Rey’d kicked her foot through the water splashing it up and onto them. The little purple dragonfly flew off when one of the little sparkling beads of water landed a touch too close for its liking. Ben heaved a sigh at the loss and let the camera dangle back around his neck.  
  
“So your friends don’t go to parks or anything like that?” She found it hard to believe. Hard to swallow that someone like Kylo Ren hadn’t ever seen a dragonfly. They’re about as common as worms nowadays. She’s sure even cities have them. And if not them at least ladybugs.  
  
“No I … uh,” he swallowed and she was briefly fascinated by the way his protruding Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, “I don’t go to school. Well … I do. I have tutor droids. I’m … home schooled.”  
  
Well that explains his social awkwardness. “They have those?” she asked with big eyes and he only nodded with that bright smile of his lighting up his face.   
  
“Yeah,” his lips twitched further, “they’re pretty new but really good. At least they don’t shit on your opinions.”  
  
Rey just bobbed her head in agreement, though she had no idea what he meant. It’s not like she had much schooling experience. She’d gone to elementary school and barely squeaked by there before she was needed on the farm. Kylo probably spent his elementary and high school years at private institutions. He was probably getting those fancy university degrees right now in something useful or other.   
  
He must have sensed her discomfort because he quickly added, “I have these training modules loaded onto a HoloPad. Wanna see?”  
  
She did. She really did. A HoloPad? Those are for really fancy space folk and rich city dwellers. Rey’s heard of them. Seen commercials for them on TV. They’re these incredible devices that have access to the H.O.M.E’s databank of information and are connected to the HoloNet. They bring the knowledge of the known galaxy to your fingertips and help make you smarter and more efficient in the process. If you can afford one, that is. Her family could barely afford their farm, let alone a service like HoloNet. They don’t even have actual stations on their TV, just whatever signal the clunky old device picks up.  
  
Kylo then whipped his HoloPad out of his knapsack and she eyed it with wonder. He didn’t handle it with care, the way she would, he practically manhandled the device like it didn’t cost a small fortune.  
  
His large fingers swiped across the screen before he turned it towards her, nudging it into her hands. Rey reached out to pick the device up gingerly, appreciating its imperceptible weight, its sleek lines and the coolness of the metal casing. Her eyes gliding across the high-definition screen and the little blobs with words like ‘HoloNet’, ‘Academy’, ‘Lesson Modules’, and ‘Photos’. Her wide eyes turned to him in confusion and he smiled proudly, those dimples setting the flies in her tummy abuzz yet again.  
  
“They’re called apps,” he said tapping on Lesson Modules, “these, for example, are my courses.” His fingers gliding across the screen in an upward motion, the list of lessons flying upwards. Titles like _Basics of Life Support Systems_ , _Welding With Graphene_ , and _Modular Colony Construction_.  
  
“Are you studying to go to the colonies?” She asked wistfully. Her voice laced with equal parts jealousy, sadness and hope. Because he was studying for something she wished so hard for, studying to go somewhere she’d never be able to follow, studying for something that would improve his life. Then again, he didn’t need life improvement. He already had all the luxuries one could want in a life, resources to buy any comfort he’s craving. Wherever he’s going, he’ll probably be a big wig leaving her behind to rot on Earth. It kind of hurts asking the question.  
  
“Oh, no. I’m not going to the colonies. My parents want me to go into politics and part of it is knowing all the minute details about governing,” he said circling his large foot in the cool water, “that includes learning everything about how the every man lives and breathes.”  
  
 _Aah_ so that’s why he’s here. Farming is practically ground zero. The Skywalkers are a real-life lesson on the layman. Rey just nodded politely mimicking his finger swipes on the screen, reading the titles of his lesson modules.  
  
“Those are boring,” he blurted out as her fingers kept scrolling, “let me show you the good stuff.” He said that with such an infectious grin she couldn’t help but smile back, pushing the HoloPad back to him. His hand stopped her, resting over hers and maneuvering it back in her lap. She didn’t miss the electric spark between them or the way he scooted closer until their clothed thighs touched. Didn’t miss that the flies in her stomach were going bonkers or that her heart rate had increased exponentially. But she let it all slide, convinced herself it was the nerves at handling such an expensive device.  
  
His fingers danced over the screen, pinching and pulling until he was back on the main screen with the blobs - _apps_ he’d called them - where he tapped his finger on the blue glowy one named HoloNet.  
  
“This,” he flashed her those dimples and toothy grin, “is where you can learn anything you want.”  
  
The page was practically blank. A single rectangle in the middle of the screen, a smaller blue box with a magnifying glass and a flashing line. “That cursor there, type in whatever you want to learn more about, ask it whatever you want,” he nudged her with his shoulder almost knocking her over with his sheer size.  
  
 _Ummm, okay …_ he tapped on the rectangle and a keyboard popped up. She thought long and hard about what to write. The questions she wanted to ask were too … private. So instead she settled for typing in ‘dragonfly’. A simple enough query, innocuous as far as they go with nothing to be misconstrued. She’d like to ask about the buzzing flies in her stomach and what they mean - she used to think it was because she hated his guts but now she’s not so sure. She’d like to ask it about the little mark on her finger too but refrained.  
  
His finger tapped the blue magnifying glass beside the search box and the result populated almost immediately:  
  
 _  
Insect belonging to the order of Ondonata, infraorder Anispotera. Adult dragonflies are characterized by large, multifaceted eyes, two pairs of strong, transparent wings, sometimes with coloured patches, and an elongated body…  
  
  
_ Her eyes grew wide with wonder as the content droned on and on and on. It was truly amazing, all the answers you could possibly ever need right at your fingertips.  
  
Kylo gave her a quick tutorial on using the HoloNet - the back button, how to return to the search screen, how to bookmark and save links. Then they continued to tap and read content on all manners of bugs. Ladybugs and beetles, tadpoles and fireflies, she swallowed up each bit of information hungrily and Kylo seemed content to provide it. Happy to offer her something that affected her so deeply. He seemed delighted in doing this small thing for her so they continued learning well into the afternoon as dusk settled in.  
  
They took her speeder back to her family home where they stood awkwardly on her porch in the pink and purple hues of the setting sun. Kylo fishes the pad out of his knapsack and holds it out to her with shaky fingers.  
  
“Here,” he nudges it towards her grinning widely, “take it and keep learning.”  
  
Strawberries and arm wraps are one thing but a HoloPad? Nuh-uh no way. That’s _too_ generous of a gift. She can’t accept it under any circumstances so she shakes her head hoping her parents don’t see this embarrassing exchange.   
  
“ _Please_?” His eyes implore with the same intensity in his voice. It’s laced with conviction and tenderness. There’s so much feeling in the small word and his body language but she simply can’t.  
  
“Kylo you can’t just go around,” she waves her hands frantically, trying to push back the fuzzy feeling in her tummy, trying to convert it into anger but it simply won’t. “You can’t just throw around credits like that. These things are _expensive_ ,” she points at the device, eyes glittering with tears, “I can’t accept that under _any_ circumstance.”  
  
“Oh…” his face falls. That exuberant grin he was sporting only seconds ago melting into worry, “I didn’t mean it like that, Rey … I …”  
  
He doesn’t move to say anything for some minutes, frozen and completely still in the fading light with a dumbstruck expression plastered on his face. Rey leaves to turn in a huff. Upset doesn’t begin to describe the plethora of emotions she’s flooded with.   
  
She’s annoyed he throws his wealth around so casually, like it’s as plentiful as the grains of sand in the deserts beyond. Maybe even a little bitter that he has the means to offer this so easily. She’s hurt because nobody’s ever done or offered a gesture _this_ kind, this _giving_. Hurt because the amount this thing costs could have put her through a course of her own to better herself, to put her in reach of a brighter future.   
  
There’s also a sliver of gratification that he’d do that for _her_. That she’s worth so much to someone. That small shred of satisfaction wars loudly against all the negative feelings bubbling in her chest. _You’re worth it,_ it screams, _no one’s worth that much_ , they argue back.   
  
And that splinters something inside, fragments of herself she’d suppressed because she’d thought she’d forever be a farmer’s daughter, fragments that long wish to reach for the stars coming together.  
  
He’s grabbing her arm again with his big hand, that familiar electricity courses through her. One that never fails to make her gasp even though she’s felt it dozens of times from him. “You’re curious and you want to learn. I’m only lending it to you so you can keep researching whatever your heart wants,” he tries again timidly, “just … lending. That’s all.”  
  
“Oh.” _Well that makes it a bit better.  
  
_ He lets her arm go, shaking out his own like he too feels the now familiar electricity.  
  
“And,” he reaches the same arm to scratch at his opposite bicep clumsily while looking at his feet, “I could talk to you … e-even at night.”  
  
She blinks at him once, twice, she doesn’t know how many times in confusion.  
  
“I have,” he drops his hand to reach into the pockets of his now properly worn in jeans, “this comm. It’s paired with the HoloPad so we can talk at night.”  
  
She’s not sure how big her smile is, only that his face slowly morphs from one of worry and panic into that bright effervescent smile she’s come to like so much. A transformation so affecting she throws her arms around his shoulders and hugs his large lumbering frame, ignoring the electricity coursing through her body. She feels him shudder as he wraps his big arms around her waist pulling her closer. _Yes_ , she thinks, I’d love to talk you, even at night. But she doesn’t say it. Can’t. Not yet. Not until she gets some answers.  
  
Rey accepts the HoloPad and they separate for the evening. Kylo had agreed that morning to have dinner at the Skywalker stead as penance for the little time he spends with his distant family.   
  
She wolfs down the grits and sweet potato her mother cooked up making small talk, all the while counting the minutes and bites until her parents retire to the living room to watch the news. Until she can safely sneak up to her bedroom to research what she really wants.  
  
That’s how she ends up staying up late into the night talking to Kylo through the HoloPad until he falls asleep. How she learns about her mark.

Query: _Mark suddenly appearing on finger_

Result: _Soulmate marks are a rare occurrence in the known galaxy. Scientific research concludes the phenomenon is species-specific, appearing predominantly in humanoids. Soulmate marks appear on the skin of the affected pairing upon first touch._

Query: _Soulmate mark_

Result: _Scientific data on the occurrence of soulmate marks is scant. It is a humanoid specific occurrence where two life-forms are a biologically synchronised pairing. Imperial scientist Obi-Wan Kenobi studied soulmate pairings to conclude the pairing is deeper than cellular-level, theorising the souls of the life forms are bound through time by midichlorians. The theory is heavily contested in the scientific community due to a lack of test subjects and empirical studies._

Query: _Soulmates_

Result: _Fictional concept coined by a small team of imperial scientists titled JEDI._

Query: _JEDI Scientists_

Result: _Group of imperial scientists during the era of the Hundred Year War known for their research into the Force, midichlorians and soulmates. Members include Qui-Gon Jinn, Yoda Masters, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Plo Koon, Mace Windu, and Kit Fisto._

Query: _The Force_

Result: _Unproven scientific theory that posits a source of energy flows through the universe binding all life. Similar to ancient beliefs in God, deities, and animism. It is thought to be an energy field created by life itself. The core of the research is dedicated to the study of midichlorians._

Query: _Midichlorians_

Result: _Concept of subatomic structures at the core of JEDI research into life. The theory suggests all life in the galaxy is inhabited by different concentrations of midichlorians. These hypothesized particles are believed to be the main network of the force. Scientist Obi-Wan Kenobi believed midichlorians were directly implicated in soulmate pairings._

Query: _Can you read your midichlorian count?_

Result: _JEDI research was unable to provide a reliable method of measurement. Midichlorians have not been physically documented or harnessed therefore they are believed to be quack theory, romanticised in movies about love._

Query: _Documented soulmates_

Result: _Only one soulmate pair was studied and documented by JEDI scientist Obi-Wan Kenobi - Revan and Bastila._

Query: _Revan and Bastila_

Result: _Documented pair of soulmates. Mated during the time of the Hundred Year War. Displayed matching marks on the inside of the proximal phalanges. Marking is described to be a symbol (data sealed) inside the dermal layer. Medical records indicate that there was no tampering and that the skin was simply naturally tinted, containing a higher concentration of melanin. Medical excision proved unsuccessful at removing the marking. Upon regeneration the dermal layer maintained pigmentation levels. Test subjects ended experimentation shortly after medical portion was completed citing undue stress. Scientist Kenobi claims the medical tests on their marks had disturbed the pairing emotionally through their bond. No further records of pairing exist._

Rey huffs frustratedly and looks at the ancient clock on her windowsill. It’s 0200 and she’s going to be tired tomorrow. She throws herself back on her bed, balancing the HoloPad gingerly on her lap to type in one last query.

Query: _Obi-Wan Kenobi Soulmates_

Result: _ < video > _

The video starts with an auburn haired man with a neatly trimmed beard wearing a white lab coat. He has piercing gray eyes and an exquisite accent.  
  
“Well hello there,” he smiles before taking a sip of what must be caf.   
  
There’s a voice off screen that asks an unintelligible question before the man, Obi-Wan, speaks again.  
  
“Aah, yes. The difference between having a soulmate mark and soulmate bonding. Our test subjects recounted their story quite vividly. Their marks appeared upon first contact. Subject R. explained that the first contact was like an electric shock to the system and a burning sensation in his right middle finger. His soulmate B. confirms this experience. Upon clasping hands their marks sealed and their bond was forged.”  
  
The voice off screen asks another question she can’t hear while the scientist takes another big sip of caf, this time the liquid drips down into the coarse hairs of his beard.  
  
“No, it’s not a telepathic bond. They can’t feel each other’s emotions or pain. It is simply a resetting of their life force to synchronize with one another. Think of it like you’re walking through a market. Everyone is going every which way. Except you find your soulmate bond, now there’s another person who walks in line with you, each step identical, each inhale and exhale matched perfectly to yours. Like that.”  
  
More commentary from off screen.  
  
“No, not like that. They don’t actually mirror one another. Their force signature is in-sync. That’s all. Two beings perfectly matched to one another. Two parts of a whole. Like the ancient concept of Ying and Yang.”  
  
Rey falls asleep to the sound of the man’s voice and a feeling of fullness in her chest.

  
  
  


“Leaders, you will escort your teams into the shuttle single file. Keep tight formation until everyone is seated. Upon arrival at gate YT-1300 you will be greeted by admiral Ackbar. He will have further instructions. Start filing for boarding in alphabetical sequence.” General Solo paces in front of the cadet leaders with confidence. The leaders salute him in perfect synchronicity before turning to march back to their respective teams. Ready to heed his instructions and board the shuttle towards their futures.  
  
“CT-7567, a word please,” General Solo interjects before Rey has an opportunity to march away.  
  
 _Shit_. She’s going to get chewed out for what he sniffed on her earlier. Please please _please_ , if there’s a God, please let her make it up to H.O.M.E so she can go to the MedBay and get her memories erased. The pain of carrying Kylo with her is unbearable at best, debilitating at worst. She can’t keep living like this. This is her opportunity to find freedom.  
  
Turning around slowly, as controlled as can be when you’re about to be reprimanded by the highest ranking official on Earth, her breath stutters as she meets his eye. The eyes that remind her so much of Kylo. She quickly averts her gaze over his shoulder to the cockpit where she sees a dark haired pilot with mussed up black tresses hanging out the window yelling at a few sargeants fiddling with the refuelling line.   
  
“You okay kid?”  
  
 _What?  
  
_ “Sir, yes sir,” she salutes towards the General while still focused on the pilot. It’s not really a response. What it is, is muscle memory. A movement so repetitive, so well-rehearsed over the last 3 years that she could do it in her sleep.  
  
“Cut the bullshit, I could hear your suit working overtime. You doing okay?”  
  
“Yes sir,” she relents, releasing her stiff arm from the forehead of her helmet down to her side.  
  
“Nothing to worry about huh?”  
  
“No, sir.”  
  
“Then?”  
  
“Just bad memories, sir. Excited to be leaving this rock, sir.”  
  
“That’s the spirit,” he smiles at her and that makes her heart stutter in her chest again because he has the same dimples as Kylo too.  
  
“Get to your team CT-7567. I look forward to seeing your progress reports. You show great promise.”  
  
It’s a blessing, being let off so easily. One she takes graciously. Walking back to her team she thanks her lucky stars she still gets to travel to H.O.M.E to finally, _finally_ , move on with her life.


	3. Just Beyond the Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I … always come in the mornings,” he shouts back while powering down the speeder and navigating it under the shelter of the porch, setting it down with a muffled thunk into the mud. It’s not like the clunker needs protection but she appreciates the way he handles it delicately. Has handled it since she’d blown up at him when he’d called it a piece of junk. He’d handled it like it was precious ever since._
> 
> _“Do you … want me to leave?” He’s breathing heavily walking up the steps, sloshing through the mud and trailing pools of water with each step. Face contorted in something akin to rejection, like he doesn’t want to leave._
> 
> _“Well you’re here now…” she says a little quieter, smiling at him now that he’s safe under the roof of the porch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have pre-finished. Updates will be slower from here on in. But we're getting soft <3

Alphabetically she and her team are 5th in line to board the shuttle. She watches the teams before hers parade up the ramp with all the military pomp and circumstance for the event. Watches them shuffle noisily to the back of the shuttle after greeting their superior, guided by a lieutenant barking orders muffled by the thick durasteel walls of the craft.   
  
She’s watching the procession before her but also stealing glances at General Solo as he nods at team after team of graduated imperial cadets. The man who cut her a break, her first one in 3 years. Her stolen glances confuse the ocular receptors in the helmet, making them whirr and flash error messages across her visor. She wonders if he and the senator are soulmates, or if she and Kylo are the only ones in existence. She wonders what he would think if she told him about her soulmate.   
  
Why she thinks this, she doesn’t know. It’s a needy little voice whispering questions she has no place asking answers to. Maybe it’s the first time someone’s shown her kindness since her loss and she’s clinging to it like a lifeline. Not that the Skywalkers hadn’t been kind after her parents passed or Kylo disappeared. They were just too close to home, steeped in too much heartache for her to see clearly around them. Looking to them for comfort would be like trying to find nourishment in a rations wrapper - the sustenance long gone with only the shell remaining.  
  
After she’d left Jakku and relocated to the academy in Coruscant she’d met little kindness in the new world. Every corner she turned was a bloodied nose, a broken promise, or an outright lie to get ahead. Cadets made friends as much as you could make an acquaintance you’d have to beat to a bloodied pulp in combat later. That is to say - not much. Most cadets kept to themselves but a few did manage to form cliques. The academy was competitive … cut-throat. That’s how they’d described it at the enlisting center at the Niima outpost. Little did she know some cadets took that meaning literally.  
  
Her first week two cadets died in quick succession. Granted they were woefully unprepared and had either not followed instructions (as was the case with the one who got shot at target practice) or had underlying health conditions (as was the case with the other whose heart gave out when they injected him with adrenaline during medical testing). But overall the MedBay at the academy was always brimming with bruised and bloodied cadets. Many tried to prove their prowess on the training grounds, few succeeded to avoid broken bones. Going to the MedBay became the benchmark for a good training day.  
  
None of it mattered though because the brokenness, the hostility at the academy and the facelessness of Coruscant helped her lose herself in a comforting sort of way. Where at home she’d only had walls tainted with memories, here there was nothing but barren steel. Where at home every row of corn, every cloud in the sky, every crackling flame in the fireplace reminded her of Kylo, here she has no reminders. That counts for something, right?  
  
 _Ben_ , she corrects herself as her team steps forward to wait at the foot of the ramp. He’d asked her to call him Ben. A name that fit him so much better than Kylo. A name he was more _responsive_ to than Kylo. Where at times she’d call his given name and he wouldn’t respond, every time she’d called him Ben he’d been there. Like it was his alter ego, the one he liked being best.  
  
A gust of wind whips between her team and the shuttle, carrying coarse grains of sand that clink and tinkle against the graphene plates of their armour. Not a single one of her cadets move a muscle. Not a single head turns, a single twitch, a single breath that isn’t calculated. They’re a unified front. Her visual acuity display flashes **22.1 MPH / 9.88 m/s**. She would bet her team’s visors are flashing the same data.  
  
“Gold squadron, team up!” The lieutenant barks towards them. Rey steps aside to let her team march up the ramp single file, saluting the General then turning towards the lieutenant in the shuttle. Rey salutes general Solo once more, taking in the landscape one last time before turning in after her team. She wishes she could take one last breath of Earth’s air, tainted as it is. One last inhale of home before it ceases to be that. Before she leaves it all behind to lose herself among the stars.  
  
She walks in after her team only paying the barking lieutenant half attention, taking her seat at the end of her row and tucking her backpack into the under-seat compartment. Her fingers graze the back of the pack tenderly and she pats it twice for good luck. In there, inside that hidden pocket, she keeps everything that’s dear to her. The things that are close to her heart. Her mother’s locket, her father’s clone factory discharge papers. Her birth certificate from Niima outpost. Her sketchbook and a little dried flower. A daisy. Memories she’d like to forget but not really.  
  
She really does wish she’d taken one last breath of fresh air, because this is it, her last day on Earth. From here on in, she'll be thousands of miles away, light years even. Away from the love and loss she’s experienced on this dying rock.

  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

The first week of July brought the first heavy rain of summer. A full month too early but a welcome change nonetheless. Because that would take the pressure off the moisture vaporators. It also takes the pressure off Rey to constantly maintain the irrigation pipes that work _just fine_. Big, heavy drops of rain begin to fall at first light and intensify to a deafening sheet of water being dumped relentlessly upon the parched earth.   
  
It’s wet and it’s hot and at the early hour of 0600 Kylo shows up thoroughly drenched on her speeder. His wet hair hangs limply around his face, too-large ears poking out through his plastered tresses like satellite dishes she’d like to trace with her fingers.  
  
Rey is scrubbing her father’s tools in the downpour on the porch while her mother prepares breakfast for the family. “What are you doing here?” she yells over the deafening roar of rain when he pulls up.  
  
“I … always come in the mornings,” he shouts back while powering down the speeder and navigating it under the shelter of the porch, setting it down with a muffled thunk into the mud. It’s not like the clunker needs protection but she appreciates the way he handles it delicately. Has handled it with since she’d blown up at him when he’d called it a piece of junk. He’d handled it like it was precious.  
  
“Do you … want me to leave?” He’s breathing heavily walking up the steps, sloshing through the mud and trailing pools of water with each step. Face contorted in something akin to rejection, like he doesn’t _want_ to leave.  
  
“Well you’re here now…” she says a little quieter, smiling at him now that he’s safe under the roof of the porch. They’re doing this new thing again. Something they’d started doing since he lent her the HoloPad. Since they started whispering ‘good night’ and ‘sweet dreams’ to one another when they were apart.   
  
It’s not really staring, it’s not really ogling nor is it as simple as just looking. It’s comfortably watching one another like they’re drinking in a sunset, or water flowing down the creek. It’s infinite and it’s endless and it’s beautiful and it feels whole. The flies in her stomach accompany a new warmth that radiates out of her bosom and into her limbs. A warmth she’s come to associate with his presence. He’s watching her watching him watch her. Even with the heavy thud of fat rain drops it’s quiet in the space between them.  
  
“Is that Kylo?” Her mother peeks through the front door, “my word Kylo look at you! You’re absolutely drenched. Come in before you catch a chill.” The spell breaks and Rey shuffles him into their house as her mother starts doling out orders.  
  
“Rey, tell your father to grab Kylo some of his clothes. In the meantime grab the boy some towels from the closet will you?”  
  
Between Rey and her father’s quick actions, they have him straightened up and dry for breakfast in no time, his wet clothes laying by the fireplace where her father laid a fresh log. Not that the heat is needed. It’s already hot but when you’re wet it seeps into your bones. Not even the second hand temperature regulator her father acquired at the market can help when you’ve been out in a torrential downpour.   
  
Once dry, Kylo fishes through his knapsack which surprisingly kept his belongings dry. ‘ _Graphene_ ’ he’d once said by the creek patting the bag, ‘ _practically indestructible.’_ He produces a small jar of blueberry jam and instant caf, handing it to her mother for breakfast.  
  
That’s how they have breakfast, laughing happily. The poor guy half undressed. Her father had lent him an old tunic that looked a touch too short and a bit too tight. Pants were impossible to find in his size, so he’d ended up parading around their home with threadbare towels tied around his waist and slung over his shoulders. A gangly young adult draped in a mish-mash of towels like a pauper, not like the city royalty he probably is.   
  
Throughout their meal she catches glimpses of exposed skin she’d never seen before. Routinely blushing from a peek of his smooth chest or his defined abdomen. With one particular reach over the table she caught sight of a dusting of dark hair below his navel trailing down beneath the towel’s edge. She’d choked on her caf quietly, cheeks flushed and heat blooming low in her abdomen while Kylo joked with her mother about never being able to eat cornbread that wasn’t baked by her again.  
  
 _God_ when did she develop these feelings? When did he start affecting her physically like this? When did his nose become not too big but regal? When did his moles not become imperfections but her favourite constellation? When did she have to fight the urge to touch him just to feel that electric jolt she’s started to associate with the concept of _home_? When did she start associating _him_ with the concept of home?  
  
Surely it can’t be the idea that they’re soulmates. For all she knows the little infinity symbol on her finger is nothing more than an odd burn mark. She can’t be sure he has one because when does a person get a chance to check between another’s fingers? Besides, her research on it has been so scant it could barely be considered research. More like banging your head against a proverbial wall in search of answers that don’t exist.  
  
That day they’d hung around her house, mostly locked up in her attic bedroom where he’d busied himself taking pictures of her and the rainy landscape while she sketched. Occasionally he’d show her how to focus the camera to capture the rivulets of rain dripping down her window and she’d show him how to shade hands. He was an absolutely terrible artist. While her quick doodle of a hand was almost lifelike, his resembled a lopsided potato with crooked, overgrown eyes.   
  
That’s how they’d spent the day quietly in each other’s company, fidgeting with their favourite past times and enjoying the presence of the other’s body. Shifting from her rickety little wooden chair to her window perch, from her bed to her tattered rug.   
  
When the rain didn’t let up by evening, her parents commed the Skywalkers to tell them Kylo would stay the night. Overhearing _that_ set the flies in her stomach abuzz. Their house being so small, there was no extra room for guests. There had barely been enough room for Rey when she was born. The attic being meticulously converted by her father from the day she was born till the day she turned 13. Thus it was decided that Kylo would take the floor in her attic bedroom. Her mother brought in fresh linens and a spare blanket while her father hauled in a makeshift pallet. All items too small to fit his bigness but he didn’t complain. He learned early on with her to leave his prissy, pretentious, city-manners at the door.  
  
He’d stripped out of his tunic beneath the ratty blanket and laid on his palette happily, legs dangling off the end at the knee.  
  
That night they fell asleep whispering ‘ _good night_ ’ and ‘ _sweet dreams_ ’ in person. Rey perched high on her bed, splayed flat on her stomach with her head and arm dangling over the side looking at Kylo. Kylo spread flat on his back with one hand behind his head, rays of light from H.O.M.E filtering through the droplets on the window and bathing his smile in an ethereal glow. Kylo whose soft dark eyes never left hers, not until she’d fallen asleep half dangling off her bed.

  
  


…

  
  


The rain let out at some point overnight but no one noticed until the sun peeked over the horizon. It carried with it a damp heat that seeped through every microscopic crack in her family home. The temperature regulator did have a dehumidification module but good luck having the power to regulate her attic bedroom.  
  
It wasn’t the sun that woke Rey, it was the mugginess in her room that threatened to boil her alive. The first thing she sees when she cracks her eyes open is Kylo’s sleeping face, mouth slightly agape, turned to his side with his arm slung high, resting up against her bed frame. The blanket he’d pulled up to his chin the night before is now pooled around his waist where there’s an oddly shaped bulge that gives a slight twitch. His bare chest and forehead are covered in a sheen of sweat from the stifling heat in the room. Her own arm is slung over the side of her bed, fingers grazing his.   
  
She blinks a few times to clear her hazy eyes, wondering if this is some kind of bleed over from her dreams that have featured Kylo with increased frequency since they’d met. But no, it’s real. He’s really here and they somehow managed to find ways to touch in their sleep. Like their bodies subconsciously gravitated towards one another.  
  
Rey watches the smooth skin of his chest rise and fall. Watches a bead of sweat roll down his cheek and dangle off the tip of his nose. Watches the muscle under his eye twitch, presumably from the itchy trail the bead drew across his cheekbone. Watches his eyelashes flutter and his eyes shift beneath his lids. Watches his eyes drift open, unfocused and glassy, as they meet her own. He blinks slowly once before the corners of his mouth quirk into a small smile.  
  
“Morning,” he whispers, fingers twitching before they graze hers and his eyes dart over.   
  
She sees his lips part, eyes grow wide, a stuttered breath escape before he pulls his fingers away. “Shit, I’m so sorry I … I don’t know how that happened. I just can’t help needing to touch…”  
  
“You’re sweating,” she croaks uncomfortably, pushing herself up to a wooden sitting position on her bed. The awkwardness of the moment a weight too heavy for them both. Words neither know how to say or deal with hang heavily between them. It’s not like they’re oblivious to each other. Not like they don’t _want_ to be in contact, they actually can’t even help it. They’re just equally awkward and well aware of that fact. Neither having the gall to outright say what’s really at the forefront of their thoughts.  
  
Maybe he wants to put those awkward feelings into words but it’s too fucking early. She’s barely awake and not ready to deal with the kind of heaviness of emotion he stirs inside her.  
  
To add insult to injury, she’s pointing at him. The original plan for the gesture was to highlight how slick he’d become with his own sweat. To draw his attention to his shiny chest, but her finger pointed much lower to that odd bulge under the blanket. He shuffles quickly into a sitting position, pulling the blanket up to his chin, tenting it so he's fully obscured.   
  
“So are you,” he squeaks indignantly, his voice cracking while his face turns beet red from beneath the blanket.  
  
To her chagrin, she realizes he’s right. Her hair is plastered to her head, her tank top glued to her sweating body, her small breasts practically visible through the worn-out fabric. She too, reaches for her blanket and hauls it up to her chin self-consciously.  
  
“Fuck, Rey I’m so sorry,” he groans dropping his hand into his palms.   
  
“No, I’m sorry. I …” she concedes, because she is sorry. Sorry that she’d made him feel uncomfortable. A guest in her home and she's managed to embarrassed him. Her friend. The one who made flies buzz in her stomach and heat bloom in her chest. The one whom she too couldn’t stop touching the way he all but admitted he couldn’t stop himself from either.  
  
And to make matters worse, he just practically saw her topless. Not only is the situation humiliating but she’s acutely aware that he might never want to see her again after this display.   
  
An idea formed, just then. It’s simple and possibly silly. A way to reset the clock, rewind back to 5 minutes ago when they were comfortable with each other, happy to wake up and meet the other’s eyes. Her gaze takes stock of her room and falls on her clothes from the day before. Her tunic, tights, discarded armbands and overlay.   
  
She huffs quietly, holding out her hand as if that would hit pause on the awkward situation they’d found themselves in. A few deep breaths in and out while she measures how she’ll get to her clothes without exposing herself to him again. Her lips quirk before she glances at him, a little softer now. “Let’s get dressed. I wanna show you something.”  
  
It’s a deadpan and he looks a bit shell-shocked from the about face, but he also looks thankful for the reprieve. She gestures for him to turn around, which he does graciously, the tips of his ears bright red under his sweaty mop of hair, while she gets dressed. It’s difficult with the stifling heat and her sticky skin but she makes it work.   
  
They get up quietly, Kylo wrapping his lumbering frame in the blanket, toeing down the stairs quietly and into the main area where he too gets dressed in his now rain-crisp clothing while Rey rifles through the cupboards. She packs a loaf of cornbread and two handfuls of raisins, mixes a canteen of hot water with some caf, padding through the kitchen silently as he straightens himself out.  
  
“Where are we going?” he whispers from beside her. It makes her jump a little and an unbidden squeal builds in her chest. One he quiets with his warm hand pressing reassuringly on her forearm. That familiar electricity courses through her. The very same that used to set her nerves and teeth on edge now bring her peace, calm her jitter. He’s smiling when their eyes meet. A crooked, lopsided smile where the dimple closest to her crinkles extra deep into his cheek.  
  
“You’ll see,” she smirks back.   
  
Rey made quick work of stuffing the food into his knapsack and handing it to him. Grabbing a stray piece of paper, she scribbled ‘ _Went out with Kylo. Already took breakfast. Comm if you need us. Love, Rey.’  
  
_ They slipped out of the front door quietly, like two thieves in the night, piling onto the speeder with Rey up front. The sun making its way up the horizon, a haze starting to manifest from the humidity of yesterday's rain mixed with the daytime heat today would provide. Without explaining her plan, she navigates the speeder quietly onto the dirt road and towards their destination.

  
  


...

  
  


By the time they arrive they’re both filthy. Filthy from sweating, from the hot wind that whipped against their bodies on the way. From the bugs that met their unfortunate end against their skin and clothes. From the mud that stirred beneath the speeder. Neither care that their clothes are practically drenched again. Neither care that they stink to high heaven. They’re just content to be in each other’s presence as usual. Like they hadn’t just spent an entire day and night together.   
  
“Come on,” she laughs, pinching her tunic off her chest slightly to unstick it from her skin, “you _have_ to see this. I think you’ll really like it.” Her legs pick up and she starts pounding the softened earth, towards the creek.  
  
“Rey!” he yells after her when she takes off at full speed towards the small shed, disappearing between the thick bushes at the side of the dirt road.  
  
She doesn’t stop running, giddy with excitement. Thrilled at the prospect of showing him the miracle that happens everytime it rains. Unchecked joy bubbling just below the surface of her skin, itching to cool down in what lies ahead.  
  
Her feet skid to a halt on the soft moss under the ash trees when she comes to the clearing. There it is, just like after every torrential downpour. She jogs towards crappy makeshift dock, water lapping and gurgling right against the top of the frame. The creek has swollen from the additional water it’s taken on. It’s beautiful and it’s lush and it’s cooling and she can’t _wait_ to get in.  
  
“Wow,” a reverent and familiar voice rings out beside her. His tone quiet and and solemn. Kylo’s caught up, stepping beside her to drop his knapsack on the wet earth at their feet. He’s staring at the clear river before them awestruck.  
  
“Come on Kylo,” she shimmies out of her overlay and shoes, drops the leather waist pouch he’d gifted her beside his knapsack, “we’re both sweaty and overheated and the water’s perfectly cool after a heavy rain.”  
  
She wades into the water to her chest, not daring any further because she simply doesn’t know how to swim. It’s cold and soothing, the current brushing against her abdomen and thighs lightly like gentle whispers. Her head dips back to wet her sweat soaked hair, cooling her overheated scalp. Her hands work the ties in her buns to release her tresses and she feels them tickle her shoulder blades once set free, pulled downriver by the current. She cups her hands to bring a trickle of water over her face, giggling as it hits her face and splashes over her closed eyes.   
  
From the bank she can hear shuffling, then the lapping of water as a body much larger than hers wades in after her. Rey raises her head, wiping the water out of the hollows of her eyes, licking her lips to collect the delicious beads of cold water. Watching a topless, pantless Kylo, wearing only his crusty boxer shorts, expertly wade into the water to stand beside her. The water comes to about his midriff and he gives her a crooked smirk before he launches himself forward with a laugh, arms raised high above his head.  
  
There’s a small splash as he slips beneath the surface then … nothing. Not a bubble, not a hand, not a single sliver of skin. As though the creek has swallowed him whole.  
  
Panic grips at her chest and claws at her insides. He can’t swim, can he? He’s drowning. Where is he? What will she do? She needs to save him, needs to get to him. They never talked about this. What if he doesn’t know about the depth? What if he gets carried away by the current? How could she have been so irresponsible? How could she have let him do this without at least giving him the basics of the swollen creek?  
  
“ **Kylo!** ”  
  
Forgotten is her fear of death, her inability to swim. She’s enveloped by a sheer cold terror at the thought of losing him and she lunges forward to where he’d been last, water sloshing up her neck and into her panicked mouth. Hands waving about frantically feeling for him beneath the surface. Continuously moving forward, deeper and deeper until she’s barely on her toes, until water is in her ears and laps over her nose and she can’t catch a proper breath.   
  
A new kind of panic takes over. It’s stifling and restrictive, like the pressure of the water around her has multiplied, threatening to crush her whole. Her heart pounds irregularly in her chest, lungs seizing in fear and lack of oxygen. And then, large hands envelope her waist gently and pull her up and backwards. Her head clears the water and she gasps, a deep and delicious breath of sweet air filling her lungs.  
  
“Rey?”  
  
Kylo is supporting her by the waist, carrying her to shallower depths. His large hands encompassing her waist completely. He deposits her once they’re back to shallower waters, turning her around and giving her an appraising once over. Eyes filled with a mixture of worry and relief. “You can’t swim, can you?”  
  
Rey doesn’t answer. She can’t, too overcome with her own sense of relief that he’s perfectly ok. “Kylo!” she lunges forward, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist, clinging to him like a parasite to its host. “I thought you were drowning I … I had to … I was so scared.” She nuzzles her head into the crook of his neck, feeling the comforting warmth of him, the satisfying beating of his pulse against the column of his neck. An act she’s never done and perhaps it’s a little too intimate and a lot awkward, but it feels so right in the moment.  
  
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s ok. I've got you. And yes, I can swim.” He’s cooing, cradling the back of her head and rubbing her back. His warm hand pressing against her wet tunic drawing a shiver.  
  
“Are you okay?” he asks, pulling his head away to meet her eye. And that’s when she realizes something. When all the gears click into place and the universe aligns because she sees it in crystal clear definition. Every minute of every hour of every day they’d spent together built up a codependency she can now see clearly.  
  
She wasn’t just afraid her friend would die - no. Her feelings for him run much deeper than friendship. Deeper than the creek when it’s swollen like this. They run deeper than the threads of time and space. Her need for him is eternal and timeless. He’s her soulmate.  
  
“I … Kylo,” she starts, looking him in the eye. They’re soft and tender and there’s something in them she recognizes because she carries it herself. This depth of feeling that’s warm and steals her breath. Seeing it reflected brings her strength to speak the words she’s been avoiding. “I have this mark and I think you gave it to me.”  
  
He hugs her close, dipping his head into the crook of her neck as he wades closer to shore, to where she can stand comfortably. “Is it on your finger?” He’s putting her down gently, releasing her to water that hits just by her hips.  
  
She sets down on wobbly legs, releasing her hold on his shoulders and pulling back again to meet his eye. To nod and release a shaky, nervous breath. To splay her right hand and show him the little twisted loops of the infinity symbol he etched into her skin. Into her soul.   
  
His left hand rises, large fingers splayed open mirroring her own and bringing it up between them. He nods slowly, throat bobbing on a heavy swallow as he turns his hand to show her his matching infinity mark. It’s there, just like hers. Etched into the delicate skin of his middle finger.  
  
“It’s … we’re ...” she wavers, unsure how to start, how to explain just how deeply this runs. Unsure how to put into words something she’s researched so thoroughly but found out so little about. Unsure how he’d even respond. Would he reject her? Find the idea of being bound to her through time appalling? Would he think her crazy for her next words?  
  
“Soulmates.”  
  
Silence, deafening silence filled with the tinkle of running water. With the heavy breaths swirling between them. Punctuated by the song of a cicada woken just a little too early.  
  
“Soulmates,” he parrots quietly, reverently.  
  
“I’ll give you your HoloPad. You can research it tonight. I wasn’t sure at first,” she’s stumbling over her words, pouring them out like a burst irrigation pipe and utterly unable to stop the onrush, “I thought it was me. I thought I’d burnt myself on hot metal but it didn’t heal so I used your HoloPad to research and that’s what it says.”  
  
“Soulmates,” he whispers again, bringing his hand up in front of hers, fingertips grazing hers. His eyes are fixed to their hands, wide with wonder, wholly focused in veneration. He’s entranced, she thinks, probably didn’t even hear what she’s said but is stuck in a feedback loop replaying the word _soulmates_ like it’s the last thing he’s heard.  
  
“Kylo?”  
  
A gasp, his fingertips press to hers to make full contact but he doesn’t move to interlace them. Content with just the touch.  
  
“Ben,” his eyes dart up to hers, even softer than before, “call me Ben.”  
  
“Okay…” she tilts her head just slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. There’s something in this moment she’s cataloging, committing to memory. “Ben.”  
  
Maybe it’s the way his middle name sounds on her lips, a little breathy, a little dreamy. Maybe it’s the revelation. Maybe he’s still in a daze and hasn’t woken up properly. He might only be 20 but he seems to have developed an early dependence on caf. One she hadn’t fed this morning. But he reaches forward to scoop her up, hugging her into his body like she’s something precious. Like she’s made of glass and he the cushioning meant to protect her fragility.   
  
“I’ll research it, sweetheart. I promise.” It’s a soft murmur against her wet skin. A promise that seems unnecessary because he already seems to be unequivocally convinced.  
  
His hand cups the back of her head and he nuzzles into her neck and it feels oddly … whole. Being like this with the boy ( _young adult_ she reminds herself) who at first annoyed her, then she began to tolerate, then suddenly kind of liked, now somehow maybe possibly loved.  
  
There’s a heavy thump against her chest. Whether it’s his heartbeat or her own, she doesn’t know. Just that this feels like home.  
  
“But first,” she can feel his smile against her neck, the bulge of facial skin as his cheek presses closer into her, “first can I teach you how to swim?”  
  
How he does it, she doesn’t know. It’s the thing she’s found most comforting about him. The way he can diffuse a situation, the way he can make her swing from one emotion to another. She simply nods against his shoulder. “I’d like that, Ben,” she manages to whisper.  
  
 _Ben_.  
  
Somehow it feels better, it feels right. Somehow this name fits him. _Them_. It flows more freely, rolls off her tongue more comfortably. It feels real. As real as the warmth she carries inside her chest for him. As real as the undeniable fact that they _are_ soulmates.  
  
Ky- _Ben_ shows her how to float, his hands never leaving her back as she entrusts him with her body, letting his warm hands guide her under water. He shows her how to dunk her head underwater, how to hold her breath, how to open her eyes and take in the marvels under the surface of the river. He shows her how to whip her legs in opposing circles, a technique he calls an eggbeater. He promises that it will keep her bobbing above the waterline and able to breathe regardless of depth, _‘better than treading water_ ’, he’d said.  
  
They stay in the water until their skin prunes, then drag themselves up to lay on the dock, drying under the morning sun. Eating cornbread and drinking caf in a newfound comfort that’s more glorious than before. There’s something knowing yet intangible that stretches out way past the horizon for them now. Like a future that you can smell and taste and see but not quite yet touch. It’s gratifying to know they can take their time, enjoy each other’s presence because now, even without his confirmation, they have each other.  
  
That afternoon they make the rounds around her farm, pulling weeds from between the rows now easier to extricate with the damp earth, calibrating the moisture vaporators which had gotten a day off, and fixing a leaking irrigation pipe.

That evening they enjoy a simple meal with her family. That night she hands him back his HoloPad and he exchanges it for his comm. That night she places a chaste peck on his cheek and he hugs her tightly.  
  
That night they whisper ‘ _goodnight sweetheart’_ and _‘sweet dreams Ben_ ’.  
  
That night she fell asleep thinking of Ky- _Ben_ and his beautiful dimply smile. His messy hair and his soulful eyes. She snuggles back into her pillows pretending they’re the warmth of his body, enjoying the prospect that one day that _will_ be him.

  
  
  
  


A lieutenant walks up and down grimacing at a HoloPad. The rows of cadets sit perfectly still as he takes a head count before commanding them to secure their gravity restraints. His last comment is that the pilot will do a cabin walk through before take off. “Godspeed cadets,” he says before turning out. Her foot gently nudges her backpack under her seat as her heart beats a heavy rhythm against her chest.  
  
When that door closes that’ll be it. She’ll leave the memories of love and loss behind. A depth of love humanity could never understand because soulmates happen once in a lifetime.

  
  



	4. We'll go together, I promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Do you believe it?” he all but whispers against her cheek._
> 
> _“Believe what? In soulmates?” she takes a stuttered open mouthed breath, mulling the question over. But not really. Of course she does. “I do.”_
> 
> _“Yeah,” he hums again, pressing his forehead to her temple, “me too. It’s a little hard not to when we’re both sporting matching marks, huh?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was actually over 8k words so it had to get split in two. Chapter count went up in accordance.

The gravity restraints feel heavy on her shoulders in a comforting sort of way. Like the heavy, reassuring hands of her father weighing her down. Like when Ben used to hug her from behind, letting his bodyweight settle over her affectionately. Not quite smothering her but just enough to soothe her with his presence. In those moments she didn’t feel alone.  
  
Ha. _Alone_.  
  
She’s alone right now. He’d left her. Then her parents left her. All the promises of family and togetherness plucked from her like kernels off a corn husk, until she was nothing but the hard knot of an empty core. Peeled away row by row leaving her barren and alone.  
  
He lied. He _fucking_ lied.   
  
He’d made beautiful promises and then he’d left. Pointed at the stars and made plans to travel the galaxy with her, take her on adventures. Blew the door open to endless possibilities and then shut it in an instant, not even affording her a look back.  
  
Not that it’s much of a surprise. If she’d been like him, a wealthy city dweller, she too would have had her fun with a poor country bumpkin before returning to real life’s duties. Then again, she wouldn’t have said the words he’d whispered in her ear. Wouldn’t have made empty promises. Wouldn’t have planned a future with that person if she’d only meant for it to just be a passing fancy.  
  
And then there’s the fact that he’s her soulmate. Everything she’d learned about that mark meant soulmates ran deeper than a fling. Deeper than run-of-the-mill love even. Yet he’d turned his back on it all. Not even saying goodbye. Not even leaving a note or a ‘thanks for putting out, Rey. Have a nice life,’ consolation message. What a prick. A god awful, self-absorbed, too-good-for-the-country prick.   
  
_Her_ prick.

She sighs quietly into her helmet squeezing her eyes shut. She feels it coo and puff to replace her exhale with fresh oxygen.   
  
The cockpit door whirrs open and the pilot she’d seen with the mop of dark curly hair appears. He’s wearing a bright orange jumpsuit and a white vest, holding his flight helmet to the side ever so casually. He’s the handsome sort. Good height, strong brows, a well proportioned nose. A chiselled jaw and high cheekbones. Dark proud eyes and the kind of mouth she’d bet turned up into a blindingly beautiful smile.  
  
Would it be as captivating as Ben’s? She doesn’t want to imagine. Doesn’t want to dredge up images of Ben’s smile. Instead she fixes her eyes on the pilot’s name tag - Poe Dameron.   
  
Her visual acuity sensors flash his rank and file across her visor, his years of service and her status as 5 pegs below him. **Deference highly recommended** blinks underneath the data. She suppressed an eye roll. Like she needs to be _told_ to respect a pilot.  
  
He’s walking casually if not a little cocky down the aisles, eyes raking over the secured cadets. He pushes on a gravity restraint bar here and there, like he’s double checking they’re strapped in. It looks to be more of a formality though. It’s not his business if a cadet failed to secure themselves, nor will he be reprimanded for any accidents once he’s locked up in the cockpit.  
  
Rey sits still, breathing evenly and closing her eyes. Letting the GxSuit work against her rising anxiety. Any minute now she’ll be as far away from home she’s ever been. Every inch the shuttle is about to travel will take her further and further away from the memories. She’s a little excited and maybe even a little hopeful, but underneath it all lies an undercurrent of nothingness. Nothing behind her, nothing ahead. Just a swirling cloud of doubt and insecurity. A black hole. A vortex.   
  
What if she screws up her first mission? What if she’s a terrible officer? What if they see through her facade and kick her out for being so weak inside? Where will she go? What will she do? She can’t go back to Jakku. It hurts too much there.  
  
“Congratulations on graduating, cadets,” the pilot starts. He has a rich voice, an octave higher than Ben but it’s just as commanding of attention. Rey’s eyes snap open to focus on the pilot at the front of the shuttle, standing proudly at the helm to deliver his pre-flight speech. General Solo stands behind him appraising the goods he’s about to deliver his wife once more. Like a last minute check before the handoff.   
  
“We’ll be off to H.O.M.E in approximately 10 minutes. Don’t loosen your restraints, don’t fidget with your anti-grav bars. At 42,000 feet the thrusters will give an additional push. Don’t fight it, just relax back into your seats and enjoy the ride. At 320,000 feet gravity will give way. Again,” he fixes a stern look at the sea of cadets before him, “don’t fight it. Your suits will inject an anti-nausea mix into your O2 tanks, just hold on and breathe deeply until the ship’s forced grav kicks in.”  
  
The pilot lifts up his helmet and fixes it over his head, the bright orange visor obscuring his dark eyes, saluting the graduates stiffly. “We’ll be arriving at H.O.M.E within the hour docking at platform YT-1300. Your receiving personnel will be admiral Ackbar. Leaders will disembark first to receive further instructions. By tomorrow you’ll have your assignments and be among the stars. Godspeed cadets.”  
  
He turns and walks into the cockpit, the door whirring shut silently, leaving the cadets alone with the clinical dissection of their travels. The fear of the unknown already making her feel nauseous. She’s never flown before, never been in space. The soothing vibration of the nanobot liner works against her skin to keep her calm.  
  
The reprieve of superior personnel is only brief, though, because General Solo steps forward to take the stage one last time.  
  
Ha. Among the stars. She’s heard that before from someone who was a _liar_. It hurts. It hurts so _much_ to hear those words again from someone else.

  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

They’d spent the remainder of the week taking advantage of the swollen waters of the creek after performing duties around the farm.   
  
Every morning they’d continued their ritual of having breakfast together with her family, now featuring a steady supply of caf. Then they’d work the farm alongside her father who’d started harvesting the first of the crops. Tilling the soil behind him, preparing it for the new round to be planted in a week’s time. Rey shows Ben how to inject aeration and fertilizer in equal parts throughout the process and he eventually takes over pressing the various buttons gleefully.  
  
In the afternoons they pile onto her speeder and head to the creek. Splashing and playing, learning to swim, gorging themselves in the temporary luxury before the waters recede. It’s an inevitable change, one that reduces the creek back in its original state, though the surrounding clearing is left much greener.  
  
At first Ben shows her how to doggie paddle. When she’s comfortable propelling herself in the water and doesn’t panic when it hits her face, he shows her how to breaststroke. ‘ _No, there are no breasts involved_ ’ he’d quipped. Of course it was a joke, but the way his ears turned red beneath his wet mop of hair and the blush spread across his cheeks made her shy away nonetheless.   
  
They’ve morphed yet again. From dislike to comfort. From comfort to feeling cozy. From cozy to … well what is it? Liking? That term doesn’t quite describe it.  
  
It’s a bit bashful and a bit warm and definitely fulfilling. Because since the moment she thought she’d lost him, she’d realized that caring for him wasn’t really optional. It was like breathing. It was unconditional and selfless. Seeing him happy, seeing him alive was all she needed. A feeling as substantial as any good meal. And that’s saying something because she _lives_ for food.  
  
“Owen and Beru invited your family to dinner tomorrow,” he says to the sky, laying flat on his back, the dock thoroughly soaked from their wet clothes. His hands are laced behind his head, elbows flared out against the wood. She’s nestled beside him, thighs grazing and her head using his tricep as a makeshift pillow. Their legs dangle in the creek, swirling haphazard patterns and watching the small puffs of clouds pass by in the sky.  
  
“Okay, we’ll tell my parents when we get back. Don’t forget I’m going with my father to the outpost to deliver the crop in the morning though.”  
  
“Mmhmm, I remember,” he’s humming contently, chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. She feels his head tilt, his forehead graze her temple and nuzzle there. Feels his breath fan across her wet collarbones. It feels cozy despite the afternoon heat. Lulls her to a dreamy state between the warmth and comfort of his body, the puffs of air against her skin and the dulcet sounds of singing cicadas and gurgling water.  
  
“Do you believe it?” he all but whispers against her cheek.  
  
“Believe what? In soulmates?” she takes a deep open mouthed breath, mulling the question over. But not really. Of course she does. “I do.”  
  
“Yeah,” he hums again, pressing his forehead to her temple, “me too. It’s a little hard not to when we’re both sporting matching marks, huh?”  
  
There’s that thing he does again, melting the awkwardness of a moment. Perhaps his parents had chosen politics for him wisely. Her father had always said that politicians are master manipulators. Wielders of the spoken word and dodgers of questions. Then again, she doesn’t _feel_ manipulated by his words. She doesn’t feel like he skirts answers. She only feels calm and content, laughing softly at his lighthearted remark.  
  
They lay there side by side, legs dangling in the water for God knows how long. Eyes closed, basking in each other’s presence.  
  
“Did you find others?” she asks. Mostly because it’s been long enough and she’d just like to hear his deep voice again, “other than … Bastila and Revan?”  
  
“No,” he turns his head back to the sky, leaning his temple against hers. “But …” he starts again, “I don’t need proof. No more than what I can already see.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence where she feels a flutter in her chest.  
  
“That’s you, Rey. Just you.”  
  
Lord if that isn’t the heaviest sentence he’s dropped on her since she’s met him. She feels the flutter swell inside her chest cavity, his words flowing through every vein and triggering every neural synapse. Threatening to drown her in the most beautiful way.  
  
A loud plop breaks her trance. One she’d recognize from anywhere. A cicada’s landed in the creek and Ben’s never seen one. Sure, she’s described them and they’ve looked at them on his HoloPad weeks ago, but this is the perfect opportunity to gift him another first. The sheer size of the critter might be just the insect to _finally_ make him squirm.  
  
Rey sits up sleepily and scans the water, looking for the bright leafy green of the culprit. She spots the bumbling nymph, struggling to stay above water floating towards the dock. The path of the current carries it straight towards her and she lifts her leg to stop its course, throwing a silent thank you to the universe for the stroke of luck.  
  
The bug clings to her foot and she gently hovers it above the water, nudging Ben’s hip with her hand.   
  
“Look,” she whispers, tilting her head towards her foot where the poor cicada is catching its breath, no doubt.   
  
“What _is_ that?” he asks with a hint of disgust. _Jackpot_. These guys never fail to creep people out. The same insect responsible for summer’s constant chorus also makes people’s skin crawl. Probably because they look like 2 inch aliens. Overgrown and mutated flies with massive eyes and rigid wings. They’re thick and girthy, have a healthy weight to them and definitely make you duck when they fly off.  
  
“Cicada…” she smiles, swinging her leg slowly over the edge of the dock, “wanna capture it?”  
  
“Not particularly, no,” he scowls but reaches for his camera regardless. Whether for her or himself, he photographs it anyway perched on her foot before she shakes it off giggling.  
  
“They’re gross,” she howls with laughter as it flies off. Ben yelps as the flying insect buzzes off over their heads to live another day.  
  
“What is that? Hellspawn?” He’s reaching back to put the camera away, feigning disgust. Then, his face softens and he reaches over the side of the dock, cupping his hand to collect some water and run it over her bare ankle.  
  
“Wh-what are you doing?”  
  
“Gotta get the traces of that devil’s fly off you before they swarm us,” he jokes, massaging and rolling her ankle. Does it feel good because she’s never been touched for her own enjoyment before? Or because it’s prolonged touch from him? She’s not really sure, just that it makes her reel. His touch always does.  
  
His face relaxes as his fingers move over her ankle, rubbing another handful of water across it. She’s well and truly scrubbed but there’s something intimate and unhurried now, like he’s enjoying just the touch. Rey leans back onto her forearms, watching his large hand all but engulf her ankle.  
  
“Did you read about the force?” she ventures a glance up to his face, calm and content.  
  
“I did. It’s kinda quackish, don’t you think?”  
  
“Yeah,” she titters nervously, “ _quackish_.”  
  
Another scoop full of cool water rolls over her foot making her shiver. She sees his face in profile turn more serious.  
  
“But,” he relents, the corner of his mouth quirking briefly while his palm ghosts over her foot, “it does have its merits … in light of recent developments.”  
  
He releases her ankle, gliding her foot back into the water and hunching forward. His left thumb moves to idly rub against the inner flesh of his middle finger. To brush his mark.  
  
“The scientist in me wants to forge the bond,” he begins, talking to the water, “to join our marks and see what happens. But…”  
  
He doesn’t finish the thought. Instead he averts his gaze towards the sky, turning to silent introspection. After too many minutes of silence he leans back again to lay on the dock, a hand snaking behind her lower back to pull her into a hug.  
  
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. That’s all.” He whispers into the top of her head. Hugging her in that way that makes her feel precious.  
  
“Don’t you?” She tries to jest. To lighten the mood the way he does with words.  
  
“Sweetheart, if this _is_ what our research says it is … and I can’t see how it _isn’t_ ,” she feels him take a deep inhale against her scalp, “then we’ll be joining our souls. That’s a pretty big deal.”  
  
Another shiver runs down her spine and her chest constricts on her exhale.  
  
“Yeah,” she whispers ruefully, “really big.”  
  
And it is. It _is_ a big deal. Based on their research it means they’ll be bound through space and time. Bound through the ‘force’ if it’s a real thing. Whether proven or not, there’s weight to the concept. A grandiose finality that’s profound. They’ll belong to only each other, no one would be able to fill the space of the other. At least in theory.  
  
Except being with Ben feels like home. The thought of bonding her soul to him feels _right_. The idea of not being with him makes her chest feel as though it’s being cleaved in two.   
  
No. He wouldn’t be making her uncomfortable, and it’s _not_ a big deal, she thinks nestled against his side.  
  
It’s kind of what she’s realizing she _wants_.

  
  


…

  
  


Dinner at the Skywalkers is … interesting.   
  
Earlier that morning at the outpost, the buyers paid a fair price for their crop.   
  
Maybe it was the extra credits from the sale, or maybe it was that Ben’s visits and gifts had eased her family pocket book even if he ate like a horse. Either way, her father felt compelled to buy her a creamy white cotton sundress with an eyelet hem from one of the second hand stalls. He didn’t say much about it, just that a girl should have a nice dress for occasions.   
  
It was very pretty. A low V neckline and thin straps, an empire waist and good quality cotton skirts that hung to her mid calf with a scalloped hem. She hadn’t tried it on but knew it would make her feel special. She did wonder, briefly, what Ben would think of it. If wearing it would bring her up to his level and maybe he wouldn’t worry about bonding. That’s been a nagging thought that’d started manifesting since their conversation by the creek. Gnawing at her slowly.  
  
On their way home Rey had felt the pang of hurt she swallowed down quietly. What if he doesn’t _want_ her because she’s nobody? What if he’s already got a girlfriend back home? In cities you could date. Out in the country you sort of married whoever was available for procreation and necessity. What if she wasn’t _enough_? Sure, he’d told her he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable but what if _he’s_ the one that’s uncomfortable?  
  
Except on their return he’d been there. Standing beside her mother wearing an old tattered apron and holding a fresh loaf of bread. He’d brought flour that morning and baked with her mother while they’d been gone. If he _was_ uncomfortable he wouldn’t be doing _that_ , would he?  
  
They worked together side by side in the morning, went to the creek in the afternoon, and separated around 0300 for Ben to go back and help Beru with dinner like he’d promised.  
  
The dress came in handy for the occasion and Rey fleetingly thought her father had bought it purposely for dinner. Her mother brushed and braided her unruly hair, helped her shimmy into the dress and put on her own Sunday best.   
  
It was a new sensation, wearing a dress. Both restrictive and freeing. She’d never felt fabric flutter around her legs, was too used to the snug fit of her thin pants. She’s also not used to feeling _pretty_. Not used to cleaning up ‘nicely’ as her mother said.  
  
In fact, everyone in the Niima family cleaned up nicely. Her father had dusted off a checkered button down and jeans, her mother put on a short sleeved dress that fluttered down to her ankles and braided her hair like Rey’s. Together they climbed into their old landspeeder, off to see the Skywalkers with a plateful of blueberry jam cookies her mother baked for the occasion. Little thumbprints sweetened with corn syrup and baked with the leftover flour Ben had brought.  
  
Owen and Beru usher them inside, complimenting Rey on cleaning up nicely just like her mother had.  
  
“You know, dear, in the 18 years I’ve known you this is the first time I see you look like the princess you are,” Beru smiles at her kindly. Rey only blushes, unable to do much else under the praise. It’s an odd experience, being complimented on looks, even from someone she’s known all her life. “Come to think of it, I may have some older dresses that might fit you, Rey. If you’re interested that is.”  
  
She’s used to being told her work is good, the pipes aren’t leaking anymore … compliments on performance and duty. Nothing ever about appearances. Not that she’d cared until this very moment. Not that it was even necessary for survival.  
  
“I’d like that aunt Beru,” she nods at the woman she’s known since birth. And she does, she thinks, want to try grooming the feminine side of herself. The one that enjoys feeling the breeze whip about her skirts, the one that likes the feel of exposed skin and flattering necklines. Spaghetti straps and eyelet lace.   
  
Then again, none of it is practical for the field. How will she crawl under the tiller to fix the compressor in a dress without exposing her goods or getting dirty? She’d look downright sodden by noon trying to wear this type of garb around the farm.  
  
Two sets of footsteps thud at the door. Jacen and Ben walk in looking heated as if they’d just argued. They both stop just outside the threshold when they see her and it makes her flush all over in pure embarrassment. She wants a poncho or a cowl or something to throw on and cover herself with. Self-conscious of being so different from her usual self, so _exposed_. So opposite from the Rey they knew.   
  
This dress-wearing Rey is _not_ herself. She’s clean and she smells half-decent. It’s strange to be looked at the way they are - as a woman to be coveted, not an equal on the field. It makes her both bristle and blush.  
  
“Jeeze,” Jacen speaks up first, shutting his mouth that had hung agape a moment too long, “never seen you in a dress. That’s different.” He walks in, shucking his shoes and waltzing past her to the table. He’s acting strange. Not like the Jacen she’s grown up with. More like an angrier, broodier version of himself. Maybe Ben whooped him in one of the pod-racing games Jacen is so fond of challenging her to.  
  
A large warm hand grazes her waist, breaking her inner musings. “You look beautiful,” the soft velvety voice murmurs against her temple. Ben. The comforting presence of Ben makes her forget all else. Makes her feel like it’s just the two of them in the room and she can’t help but turn towards him, smiling under his touch.   
  
Maybe, just maybe dresses aren’t so bad afterall. Maybe there’s merit to wearing them more often. For Ben.  
  
“Oh, how cute,” Beru makes a cooing sound that sends Rey’s eyes across the room, averting her gaze from Ben, heat rising in her cheeks and flushing her chest. Jacen’s face is equally red, sitting and scowling at his place setting.  
  
Rey walks away from Ben, unsure how much her parents saw. Hyperaware that if her family knew they may be forging a romantic connection, which they _definitely_ are, they might put a stop to it. It’s a discovery she can’t risk. Not when they’re not sure themselves. Not when their feelings are only beginning to blossom. She glides to her seat across from Jacen quietly, Ben taking his at the head of the table and the adults on the opposite end.  
  
Dinner is wholesome, delicious, and a rare treat. Beru had gotten a hold of a whole chicken, seasoned and roasted to perfection. Served with a side of grits, baked yam, and creamed spinach. Owen serves the men unfiltered beer he’d made on the stead and Beru serves the ladies lemonade made from Vita-C, corn syrup and seltzer. Their parents deeply engrossed in conversation about new harvesting technology, completely oblivious to the awkward silence at the other end of the table.   
  
“Why’d you put on a dress for, huh?” Jacen breaks the silence at their end, spearing a yam onto his fork and shoving it in his mouth angrily. The beer seems to have lubricated his tongue and he’s sporting a flush across his cheeks and nose. She raises her eyes to meet Jacen’s, only to be greeted by what looks like spite. “You wanna impress Kylo? Huh? Is that it?”  
  
“What are you talking about?” she sputters quietly, “we were invited to dinner I just wanted to look … nice.” She feels exposed again. A little embarrassed. A knot forming in her throat at being called out so brashly.   
  
She must look ridiculous in this getup. There’s no reason a farmer’s daughter should dress in anything other than versatile attire. Jacen is simply calling out the juxtaposition and it hurts. Hurts to be told it doesn’t fit. Hurts to be told that you’re doing it for someone other than yourself. Even if Ben had been the catalyst, it felt nice to clean up. Felt nice to take a little pride in her appearance.  
  
“Don’t lie, you two hang out way too much. It’s for him, isn’t it. It’s sickening.” Jacen’s fork clatters to his plate and he’s boring holes in her eyes, his own blue eyes ablaze in anger.   
  
“Jacen, don’t be rude to our guests,” Beru chides casually from the other end.  
  
“Yeah well, if they weren’t busy making out at her farm…”  
  
“Jacen that’s enough,” Owen booms. Jacen’s clearly in one of his morose moods. The home made brew probably a dangerous mix to his already tumulus emotions. It’s outbursts like these where Rey usually walks away, going back to do her own thing at home.   
  
God they must all look so ridiculous to Ben, grousing over nothing. Arguing over another one of Jacen’s mood swings. It’s silent now, everyone’s eyes affixed to their side of the table assessing them carefully in that way parents do when they’re trying to find what you’re hiding.  
  
Rey clears her throat to try to balm the situation, “Be- _Kylo’s_ never seen a lot of insects, Jace. I’ve just been showing him a bunch around the area. That’s all.”  
  
Her father nods in acceptance taking a sip of the cloudy beer while Beru places another scoop of creamed spinach on her mother’s plate.   
  
“ _Sure_ …” Jacen rolls his eyes sneering, “if that’s what you want to call it.”  
  
“No really,” Ben swoops in to help her smoothly, “I have a lot of photos of them. You never wanna see but I can show you.”  
  
“You hate bugs anyway, Jace. Did you want to come hunt for them with us?” Rey adds for good measure.  
  
He grimaces and scoffs, “gross. No thank you.”  
  
“That sounds like a nice idea Jace, you should join them on the bug hunts,” Beru smiles at her son sweetly. With that _go-on_ smile mothers give their children.  
  
“Yesterday I got to finally see a real cicada,” Ben offers the table in good humour, his hand reaching underneath the tablecloth to squeeze her knee assuringly. Like he’s trying to relate this _isn’t_ just about the bugs. That he’s placating his cousin but she’s more than just his tour guide. It feels nice, the weight of his hand and the soft squeeze. The unspoken words radiating from his fingers and imprinting her flesh.  
  
“It would still be nice to get some extra help at the farm instead of you spending every spare moment at the Niimas’,” Jacen glances at Ben. He looks skeptical but his spitfire anger has faded enough for her to release a heavy exhale. Reduced to a more manageable brooding.  
  
“I actually sent him,” Owen offers, though Rey isn’t quite sure she believes it. The proclamation feels more like a compromise than a statement of fact. “Harvesting season is always so intensive and we have good equipment. The Niima stead could use the extra help. Besides, it’s a great learning opportunity for Be- _Kylo_.”  
  
Thanks to Owen and some quick thinking, dinner continued calmly enough. Ben alone polished off a quarter of the chicken. Beru and her parents asked to see Ben’s pictures and he obliged, showing their families the collection of macro shots he’d amassed, pointing out their names with childlike wonder.   
  
Rey is sitting with her glass of bootleg lemonade on the sofa, watching and listening to Ben hunched over his HoloPad swiping and pinching at pictures with their parents when Jacen sits beside her.   
  
“You _do_ look nice,” he says a little quieter as his hand brushes her thigh.  
  
“Thanks,” she nods, eyes never leaving Ben. Watching him make exaggerated faces retelling the size of the cicada.   
  
An idea begins to form, another gift she’d like to bestow on Ben. One she thinks will blow the swollen creek out of the water. One that’s so encompassing she doesn’t hear Jacen speak.  
  
Jacen huffs loudly when she makes no response, gets up and storms out of the house to his dome.

  
  


…

  
  


Their parents continue drinking unfiltered beer and chatting happily with the Skywalkers while Rey is left to sit alone with Ben on the sidelines.  
  
She spends her time clarifying farming terminology when his face contorts in confusion. An emotion she’s begun to recognize by his plush lips turning down slightly, the small furrow of his brow and his little downward glances.  
  
“Kylo, you should get to bed. Tomorrow the Niimas will be planting and it’ll be all hands on deck,” Owen leans over to speak.   
  
Ben only nods, giving Rey a sad sideways glance. He’s unhappy to be parting from her.  
  
“I’ll walk you out,” she offers quietly and begins to stand up. He follows, bidding her parents and his hosts good night, striding out the door behind her. Outside he wraps his hands around her waist and pulls her into a hug.  
  
“I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he murmurs against her temple.  
  
She can’t help but smile into it, can’t help wrapping her arms around him in return and pulling him closer. Hugs from Ben, it turns out, are now her favourite thing. A natural progression from their fleeting touches. An increase in contact surface that feels good. Better than good. Whole.  
  
They walk slowly, side by side, joking about dinner and nudging each other’s shoulders until they get to one the smaller domed structures and he opens the door to reveal a guest suite. So _that’s_ what this is? She’d thought it was for equipment or small livestock but it turns out it was guest accommodations. The Skywalkers must truly be wealthy for these parts.  
  
“Right then, sweet dreams Ben,” she turns to leave having seen him to his residence.  
  
His hand falls on her shoulder to stop her, freezing her in her tracks. He pulls up close behind her, pulling her against his chest and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Rey allows herself to be swept away under his comforting weight. The promises of happiness cocooned between his arms.  
  
“You really do look beautiful like this,” he murmurs against her ear, “but you’re beautiful anyway.”  
  
“Are you saying you prefer my farm fresh attire better?” she quips, leaning her head against his cheek.  
  
“No. Yes?” he chuckles and she can feel the vibration of his laugh against her back. Can feel the bulge of his cheek pressed against her head. “I lo- _like_ you in anything.”  
  
They turn quiet, watching the sky, taking in the blue-silvery landscape bathed in the light of H.O.M.E.   
  
“Up there,” he points to the station and waves his hand beyond, “we’ll need you in things other than dresses.” He punctuates the statement with the press of his lips to her temple. It makes her legs go soft like she’s melting into a puddle.  
  
“Mr. Ren, are you saying farm clothing is better in space?” she tries to sound light-hearted but it comes out a bit breathy.  
  
“I’m saying it’s more practical, Rey. I want you to be comfortable wherever we go.”  
  
She hums blissfully caged beneath his heavy arms. His heart beating soothingly against her back. Everything the galaxy has to offer lays at her feet and for the first time in her life, she feels like she has a partner. Someone who understands her, steadfast at her side. She feels hope, happiness, the promise of a future bubbling just below the surface.  
  
“You really mean that? Ben?” she whispers reverently, reaching her hands up to grasp his forearms, “we’ll really go up there?”  
  
“One day, sweetheart. We’ll go together. I promise.”

  
  
  
  


General Solo is standing tall and appraising at the front of the shuttle. Like the pilot, he begins a slow walk down the aisles to look over his delivery. The heavy thud of his boots clangs against the metal. Each of his steps makes her systems jolt in fear. This is his last opportunity to pull her out of the shuttle. To sniff out her weakness. To finally figure out she doesn’t belong here and boot her from the program.  
  
Instead he passes by, sweeping slowly over to the other side and back to the front where he perches himself, ready for his final address.   
  
This is it, Rey thinks, her final moments on earth. She’s going out into space. She’s wearing practical standard issue clothing. Her only belongings tucked safely under her seat.   
  
She’s going alone.  
  
He’d promised.  
  
He’d _lied_.


	5. An Ancient Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Triumphantly, she returns to sit beside him, pride radiating off her in waves while little feet tickle the soft flesh of her palms. Jutting her chin to his knapsack, she tells him, “grab the camera and get ready.”_
> 
> _Ben doesn’t question her, simply doing as he’s told. Unfurling his large frame and bumbling over to his knapsack to fish out the camera, fixing the macro lens onto the device and coming back to sit beside her._
> 
> _Slowly, ever so slowly she uncups her hands, creating a fleshy cradle to showcase her catch. It’s tiny and chubby and completely uninteresting in its features until it’s tiny bum illuminates with a soft pulse of light. A firefly._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally part of the last. Unfortunately it ended up being a short story in itself and downplayed the buildup. So here it is, in all its glory, as a stand alone chapter.

General Solo clears his throat, ready to make his declarations. Ready to give them his last words of wisdom before they head up to H.O.M.E and into whatever future the New Republic bestows on them.  
  
Gone are the days she thought she’d be a colonist on some faraway green planet. Farming and living a simple life with Kylo. They’d joined their marks, forged their soulmate bond and then … then he’d just left. Like she was nothing. Nobody.   
  
That’s how she feels right now, sitting in a sea of cadets, dressed just like the rest. Like nobody. Another pawn in the galactic game of chess those above her play. Expendable. Hadn’t that always been her lot in life?  
  
She’s just a number now. And once she gets up to H.O.M.E, she’ll get a new code name forever severing her ties with her past. Her real name will become a ghost, letters printed on her imperial file stating her birthname for reference at time of death. Not like they’d have any family to contact. Up there, the Rey bound to Kylo will cease to exist. If that’s even his name, she scoffs internally.  
  
Did he even give her his real name? Or was Kylo Ren, even Ben, just another lie? Is that why she found no trace of him at the Coruscant archive? Because it was all an act of deception to protect himself from the likes of her? Just a city boy taking on an alias to avoid being roped in by someone below his station. A precaution.  
  
The pain of losing him is agonizing on the best of days. Even more so when she thinks of where he probably is now. Because she all but _knows_ the answer.  
  
He left her behind. Went back to finish his schooling and has left earth, off to some affluent colony or station where those of his caliber congregate. Most likely married a nice rich girl. Has taken his pretty wife among the stars like he’d promised _her_. They probably have young children with his big ears and beautiful soulful eyes.  
  
The thought hurts. It hurts so much it’s visceral, her ribs crushed under the weight of the intangible burden. Because she isn’t sure, has no hints of his fate, only that he’d left her behind. Discarded her like trash, never reaching out again. Not even to say he’s alive. And that makes a great emptiness open inside her, threatening to consume her whole because a soulmate wouldn’t do that. Would they? They have a bond and he _chose_ to turn his back to it. He _chose_ something else, _someone_ else. The flesh inside her middle finger sizzles and burns and she bites her cheek, willing the inevitable onslaught of tears away.  
  
Her soulmate _left_ her. He disappeared to live a life without her. Like their bond meant nothing to him. Like _she_ meant nothing to him. A teardrop catches on her lower lashline and spills over, painting a hot path down her cheek and into the hollow of her quivering mouth. She can taste the saltiness. Taste the sadness that spawned the traitorous tears.  
  
“The best and the brightest of you fill the seats of this shuttle. Ready to travel to H.O.M.E. From there? Some of you will travel to the furthest reaches of the galaxy. Some of you will receive missions that will bring you routinely back to earth. Others will spend the rest of your days among the stars. From the moment you step foot onto that station, you represent humanity as a whole on the galactic front.  
  
“Out there, ain’t like dusting crops, kids. Out there you’re not wherever you came from. You’re a representative of our race and the New Republic. Make her worshipfulness proud and behave like the standup soldiers I saw on the training grounds.   
  
“When that door closes, dusk will set on your old lives. Show the galaxy what humanity is made of. Show them the tact and brawn bred on mother Earth.”  
  
General Solo nods at them once, salutes with all the pride a father could have for his ducklings, “Godspeed cadets.”  
  
With that, he turns on his heel and marches stiffly down the ramp.   
  
Dusk. The worst of the memories.  
  
It floods her conscience unbidden as the shuttle door seals with a soft whirr. As the cockpit’s comm crackles uninteligibly through the cabin.

  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

It took a few days for the weather to be just right. They don’t come out just anytime but require the right circumstances. A little bit of consistent rain (but not too much) and just enough vegetation around the old baseball diamond downriver of the creek.   
  
In the interim, Rey and Ben continued working the farm in the mornings and hanging out by the creek in the afternoons, having dinner at her house evenings and whispering ‘ _good night sweetheart’_ and ‘ _sweet dreams Ben_ ’ at night. It was a routine she’d come to look forward to, one that made the mundane repetition of farm life bearable. Made all the better by their increased closeness.  
  
Jacen came to join them the day after the dinner but decided against any further outings after his first attempt.  
  
They’d made sure to deter him by pulling out and making a big show of some of the ugliest insects they’d catalogued. Oohing and aahing in exaggerated tones. Letting the critters crawl up their arms and offering them to their unsuspecting victim in an attempt to thoroughly gross him out. It was a covert mission to make him squirm. And it worked.   
  
Both had feared Jacen would throw a wrench in their time together by inserting himself into the mix. A time that had quickly become sacred to her. One, she guessed, was sacred to Ben too. One neither wanted to share with anyone but the other.  
  
Their moments now punctuated with frequent hugs and stolen kisses to temples and hands, the crowns of their heads, the crooks of their necks and the tender skin of their biceps. Soft pecks that said things they were too shy and awkward to say outright.  
  
Rey told her mother of her plan, of the rare critter she’d like to show him and her mother had agreed it was a fine idea. So when the right day finally arrived, her mother had conceded to having an early dinner, allowing them to slip out and watch the miracle unfurl at dusk.  
  
After clearing the plates and helping her mother clean dishes, she grabbed Ben’s arm, slung his knapsack over her shoulder and dragged him outside to the speeder. She didn’t say anything and he didn’t ask. It was a new way of communicating with their bodies. The urgency in her movements and her steadfast resolve said enough to not warrant words. _There’s something I’m going to show you_. His compliance, in return, said _lead the way_.  
  
She sped them past the bushes to the creek and further down the dirt road until it narrowed and became nothing but parched earth and tufts of yellowing grass, following the line of the creek into a dry wooded area. The speeder slowed about a mile from her little shed, Rey maneuvering it to the side of the path before powering off. The sun already slung low in the sky, kissing the edge of the horizon.  
  
“Come on, we don’t have much time,” she gestures towards the treeline smiling.  
  
The setting sun bathes the landscape in a golden glow, pinks and purples dotting the sparse clouds above as they walk through the trees onto a grassy clearing. It gives him an ethereal glow, one that accentuates the gradual tan he’s built up spending time outside with her. It warms his face and hair, turns his jeans a little green.  
  
When they break through the treeline, the land is flat 180 degrees before them. Nothing but low grass fading into the dry desert beyond. It used to be a baseball diamond years and years ago. One her elementary school used to visit to play games on before the school closed down due to low attendance. The fencing all but gone, scavenged for other uses, but the pitcher’s mound is still intact and untouched. Sometimes, when the weather is just right, Rey comes here to sit on the little earthen bulge and watch nature’s miracle unfurl. A miracle she wants to share with Ben.  
  
“What’s this?” he asks, a little confused.  
  
“You’ll see,” she tugs off his knapsack and fishes for his tripod walking towards the mound, “it’s a surprise.”  
  
The smile he gives her makes the flies in her tummy buzz and heat bloom in her chest. This pretentious city boy who may or may not have her heart in a knot. It’s trusting and open, laced with adoration that used to make her shy away, now only makes her want to hug him.  
  
She sets the tripod up on the little rise, then sits down beside it cross legged, patting the earth beside her. Ben simply takes his cue and joins her, resting his palm on her knee. Rey turns her head and smiles at him knowingly. Aware that in only a few minutes she’ll absolutely blow his mind.   
  
Ben smiles back at her trustingly, in that soft way he smiles only at her. His hand leaves her knee, shifting up to wrap around her waist and pull her closer. She obliges him happily and rests her head against his shoulder, content to watch the sunset with him until the moment arrives. Letting the lingering warmth of the fading rays penetrate her skin and basking in the solid warmth beside her.  
  
“Soon,” she murmurs. He makes no move to question her, only turns his head slightly to press his lips into the crown of her head. It makes her preen. It makes her giggle with unchecked glee. The way only Ben can make her giggle.  
  
“What was that for?” She asks nuzzling closer.  
  
“For being you.”  
  
She can’t help the way she turns up to meet his eye. The way she gets lost in the depths of them, the setting sun bringing out the golden flecks in his irises. The way they’re soft. A softness she knows is just for her.   
  
She can’t help sucking in a small breath at the proximity, at the intensity of his gaze. A result of the heaviness that’s manifesting in her chest. Of the surge of joy she feels from just being able to trace the constellation of marks on his face with her eyes. One day, she’d like to do that with her fingers, maybe even her lips.  
  
There’s something more beautiful between them than the setting sun. More beautiful than the watercolour gradient of the horizon and the serene landscape surrounding them. There’s a static in the air that stretches out beyond time and space. A pulsing warmth that practically hums in the air between their locked gazes.  
  
Then, she sees it. Her eyes flicker over beyond his shoulder towards a small glittering yellow light. _It’s starting_.   
  
“Did … did you see that?” he asks dumbstruck, unsure he’d seen the same phenomenon, eyes darting behind her only briefly. She simply nods, grinning ear to ear before pulling away. Not missing how his hand grips her waist a little tighter before releasing. Like he doesn’t _want_ to let her go. She stalks out to where the little light floats, cupping her hands to capture it between her hands.   
  
Triumphantly, she returns to sit beside him, pride radiating off her in waves while little feet tickle the soft flesh of her palms. Jutting her chin to his knapsack, she tells him, “grab the camera and get ready.”  
  
Ben doesn’t question her, simply doing as he’s told. Unfurling his large frame and bumbling over to his knapsack to fish out the camera, fixing the macro lens onto the device and coming back to sit beside her.  
  
Slowly, ever so gently, she uncups her hands, creating a fleshy cradle to showcase her catch. It’s tiny and chubby and completely uninteresting in its features until it’s tiny bum illuminates with a soft pulse of light. A firefly.  
  
She can hear him inhale sharply, eyes grow wide with wonder, his whole countenance taking on a new kind of reverence borne of a divine experience. An experience only nature can bestow on man. His eyes flicker up to hers and down to the little fly as a smile grows on his face.  
  
“Go on,” she nudges him with her elbow, “take the photo.”  
  
And he does. His face does that sweet contortion where he bites his tongue, clicking away and grabbing multiple shots at different angles. When he pulls the camera away, she opens her palms fully, raising her hands to the sky, letting the little firefly take off and join the rest of his swarm.  
  
His swarm that’s started floating up and swirling around them in a twinkling light show at dusk. The air growing thick with the little yellow pulsing lights like glowing rain drops. Glittering flickers of light that cocoon them. She stands up enthralled.  
  
It’s always like this when they come out. Mesmerizing and hypnotic. Beautiful in a way that can’t be captured or replicated, only felt. Beautiful in an otherworldly sort of way, the way she imagines a lush green planet would be. She can’t help turning her eyes up to the deepening purple sky, can’t help reach out her hands to twirl around in their glorious lights. Letting herself be surrounded and engulfed in their slow pulsing glow. They land on her and take off, a reprieve from their bumbling flight, tickling her skin.  
  
She can hear Ben fidgeting with the camera, probably setting it up on the tripod to capture the depth of the scene. It’s surreal. It’s wondrous. It never fails to steal her breath. Until this moment that is.  
  
The moment a warm hand lands on her back and spins her forward, catching her within the cradle of those arms. His hands rest comfortably on her jutting hip bones where he draws small circles with his thumbs. The moment those same large hands slide behind her lower back to pull her into a hug, squishing her face against his chest.  
  
She can feel his heart racing, feel the warmth of his body, feel him take shallow, quick breaths like he’s been running. She’s also acutely aware that her heart rate may have picked up a notch in response to his proximity. That they’re dancing on the precipice of something tonight. Something equally beautiful, equally transcendent as the fireflies.  
  
“Thank you,” whispers next to her ear reverently, “it’s amazing. _You’re_ amazing.”  
  
She loops her hands up from his chest where they’ve been sandwiched to slide across his shoulders and hug him back. Giving a little reassuring squeeze. _You’re welcome_ , it says, _I did it for you._ He’s rocking her back and forth, like the smallest dance to a beat only the two of them can hear. The beats of their own synced hearts.  
  
His head pulls back a smidge, putting pressure on her clasped arms and she releases to let him pull back a little more. Lets her hands slide down his shoulders where they come to rest. Like they’re dancing awkwardly at a teenaged country dance. When their eyes meet, he’s got that look in his eyes again, only it’s more pronounced now. Blown wide open and unfiltered.   
  
It’s the way you look at a tube of BactaGel for a burn or scrape. The way you look at a meal after a long day’s work. The way your heart swells when your crop is harvested unharmed and healthy, all the work and sweat you’ve put into nurturing it coming to fruition. It’s also a little heady and a little raw with need. Like he’s lost and she’s the map to everything he’s ever wanted. Like all the beautiful things around them - the sunset, the fireflies - mean nothing because all he needs is right in front of him.  
  
It makes her feel like she’s special, but also like she’s a sieve. Like every moment she’s experienced in life has sifted through uncaught until he came along, plugging all the holes. Transforming her from permeable to solid. He fills every gap and every crack inside her that she’d never known existed. With him little things feel big. With him she’s learned to take joy in small wonders again. He’s a lens. A rose coloured one - or so her mother’s saying goes.  
  
The way he looks at her, the way he touches her, makes her feel _whole_.  
  
“Rey I,” he’s swallowing heavily, throat bobbing and lips twitching.  
  
“I…” his eyes roam her face, fingers grazing her temple to tuck back a loosened tendril of hair.  
  
“I .. I want to,” a stuttered breath fans across her face. She can feel his heart thump and thump heavily against her palm, pressed just over where it’s loudest.  
  
“I want to .. kiss you,” he finally whispers.  
  
And God if it’s not the most affecting he’s ever looked. The way his fingers slide from behind her ear to cradle her jaw like she’s precious. The way his eyes beg with the little twinkles from the dancing fireflies illuminating his irises. It makes her feel melty, like she’d be a puddle if it wasn’t for his grounding hands. She nods, a small, reverent nod. Almost imperceptible. That’s all he needs because he closes the distance between their faces. Their eyes flutter closed, she becomes pure sensation.   
  
His lips brush against hers ever so gently and she relishes in their pillowy softness. A softness she’s come to associate with him. The soft brush of his lips presses closer still as he tilts his head to fit himself with her. Sealing their lips in a chaste close-mouthed kiss. She feels like her soul might just be leaving her body. Floating up and above with the fireflies, swirling around them, and further up to play among the stars. Like in this moment she has become eternal with just this touch. The press of his lips releasing her from her Earth-bound shell to see into the distance and beyond, into the future. Branding her with the taste and feel of him.  
  
His hand slides up her jaw to cup the side of her head, fingers splaying in her hair, cradling the back of her head. His other arm pressed against her lower back pulling her closer, like he’s planning on absorbing her into himself with each press of his lips. She, in turn slides her hands up his chest to interlace her fingers behind his neck instinctually. Like it’s always meant to be like this.  
  
She’s not sure which one of them it is, who’s tilting further to deepen the kiss or who’s opening their mouths to the other. Only that when it happens she’s flooded with his breath. The warmth of his existence filling her lungs and stroking her heart. His lips move, adjusting to hers, caressing to imbue a velvety friction punctuated with soft suction where they sealed. They repeat it once, twice, enough times to leave her breathless. Enough to make her see stars behind her closed lids.   
  
With each press of their lips their need for each other intensifies. Like they too are fireflies pulsing with light. A light that flickers brighter with each kiss that melds into the next and the next. It’s slow and precious and beautiful and perfect. It’s the culmination and the crest of all the unspoken words they’ve built up between them over the weeks they’d spent together. Right here, on the old pitcher’s mound miles away from home beneath the twinkling of fireflies and the darkening sky.  
  
It’s her _first_ kiss.  
  
It doesn’t feel like his. The way his lips move, the way he knows just how to move, how to build that warmth inside her that’s filling her chest and gut. The realization crashes the sweetness of the moment and he must feel it, with the way she inhales sharply, with the way her brows furrow.  
  
He disconnects, the side of his nose brushing against hers as he creates distance between their faces. Her eyes drift open, adjusting to focus on his.  
  
“Was … was that okay?”   
  
She lets out a stuttered breath, nodding. Eyes shining with unshed tears.  
  
“Hey, are you okay? Did … did I hurt you? Did I do something wrong?” his voice cracks.  
  
“No, I…” she’s breathing but all she can taste and smell and see is him. This beautiful soul that’s given her her first kiss. That’s stolen her heart.  
  
“That was my first kiss,” she finishes quietly. Sadly because she knows to him it’s not as special. He’s definitely done this before.  
  
“Mine too,” he presses his lips to her forehead and hugs her close.  
  
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Ben,” she squeezes her eyes shut and presses closer into his chest. Her declaration muffled by the wall of muscle beneath his shirt.  
  
“I’m not,” he murmurs against her forehead, “I was waiting for the right person. And that’s you, Rey. Just you.”  
  
She turns to gaze up at him, unable to connect the words he’d spoken with the way he kissed her so expertly. There’s nothing but honesty and devotion in his eyes. A raw emotion she recognizes because she carries it herself for him.  
  
His forehead pressed against hers, nose nuzzling hers tenderly. “I may have used the HoloPad to research how to do it right. I may also,” he swallows heavily, considering whether to divulge the next bit, “have practiced on my pillow. Did it work?”  
  
This sweet lumbering giant. How could she have doubted him?  
  
Her head bobs, rolling up and down against his forehead, “yes,” she answers honestly. Breathlessly.  
  
“Rey this,” he chuckles with a nervous edge, “this is going to sound crazy but…” their eyes meet and she sees fear in them. Sees agony.  
  
“I … I think … I” his throat bobs on a swallow.  
  
“I think…” the words are stuck in his throat and she reaches her hand up from his chest to graze his cheek. Running her thumb over his cheekbone in a way she hopes is comforting. In a way that tells him its ok to say what he’s scared of and it’s ok to not say it if he’s scared. It’s ok to share and it’s ok to let it be. That she’s just happy to be here with him.  
  
He closes his eyes, the hand on her back pulls just a smidge tighter, “I think ... I’m in love with you.”  
  
And holy fucking shit. This is a complete 180 from mere moments ago when she’d thought she wasn’t his first kiss. From a week ago when she’d thought she wasn’t special enough because she was a nobody.  
  
She _is_ his first kiss. And she’s not nobody. Not to him. He’s in _love_ with her. The same way she’s head over heels, unequivocally, undeniably in love with him.   
  
Her lips quirk in a small smile, a huffed laugh escapes. Unchecked happiness surges through her and she tilts her head to meet his. Kissing him fiercely, returning his words with every ounce of emotion in her body. Conveying her love for him through action to leave no room for doubt. She’ll say it back. _Of course_ she’ll say it. She feels it too. But right now? Right now she needs to kiss him. Needs to feel the softness of his lips and hear the soft wet sounds of their joining.   
  
His hands move up to cradle her face, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw so tenderly it contrasts the fierceness of their lips. Their mouths parting further and further until she feels his tongue lick the seam of her lower lip.  
  
She doesn’t think, just feels. Opening further to grant him access, meeting his tongue with her own to swipe languidly against him. It’s an ancient instinct, engrained in her biology. She didn’t need to think about it, didn't need to research or learn, her body just _knew_. It’s a motion that makes him moan quietly into her mouth. One she swallows hungrily and returns with one of her own.  
  
They kiss and kiss, exploring the warmth of each other’s mouths until the sky is dark and the stars are bright and the fireflies bathe their surroundings in their pulsing glow.  
  
There’s only one thing that could make this moment even more special than it already is. Something she’d been thinking about for weeks. Since she’s told him they’re soulmates.  
  
Her hands slide down his jaw, down his neck and over his shoulders. Down his arms where she puts just enough pressure to wordlessly ask him to release. She chases his mouth when he makes to pull away, only running her hands down his forearms and pressing their fingertips together.  
  
He doesn’t stop her, as if he understands that this is it. There’s no better moment than right here, right now.  
  
His fingers shift the slightest bit to the side, a fraction of a tilt but just enough for them to slip between hers. Their fingers interlace, slotting against each other. The tender flesh between their middle fingers burn hot and her mark sears against his. The same glowing warmth, that pulsing energy around them hums in her ears, in the air around her.  
  
Their bond is forged.

  
  
  
  


The shuttle’s comm crackles to life, giving the cabin glimpses of the pilot’s conversation with presumably his co-pilot.  
  
“Snap, can you check the engine’s coolant levels? We don’t need a repeat of D’Qar.”  
  
“All green,” the other voice says, “did he really call her worshipfulness again?”  
  
There’s laughter, the kind shared between pilots. It’s low and more of a chuckle, haughty even. Like pleasantries shared at the dinner table with a guest.  
  
“Thank God she didn’t hear that or she’d have his head on a platter. Thrusters engaged?”  
  
“Affirmative,” a pause, “you gonna tell her?”  
  
“Nah. Actually, _maybe_? If she pisses me off enough I might. She’s got me running a mission tomorrow for her son. Dude’s a brooding nightmare. Might be nice to get a jab just because.”  
  
“Ooookay flyboy. Organa’s son isn’t _that_ bad.”  
  
“ _You_ haven’t had to sit through a dinner with him. The guy’s got a stick up his ass. Had it for years. He's been a grumpy fucking hermit ever since he was sent to Ear … Shit the cabin comm.”  
  
“What? Oh fuck.”  
  
The cabin goes silent and a few of the cadets laugh nervously. Then the lights go out. There’s a loud noise and a vibration beneath their feet as the thrusters engage and the shuttle roars to life.  
  
The crackle on the comm comes on again, this time the pilot addressing his cargo.  
  
“Taking off in T-minuts 1. Enjoy the ride kids.”  
  
She feels pulled down as the shuttle starts pushing up against Earth’s gravity. A heavy weight settling in her chest.  
  
This. She was supposed to do _this_ with him.  
  
He did _this_ with someone else. Most probably his wife.  
  
She releases a quiet sob, tears streaming down her face as the shuttle begins to hover over the landing pad.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand they're bonded. Gonna rework the tags now that I have a proper map for the story. Chapter count may change though.


	6. Compromising the Repair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His hand ghosts over the hydrospanner, picking it up and bringing it to her. He comes in close, so close it makes her almost forget she’s pinching the detached coil to keep it from springing a leak again, wasting precious coolant. The hydrospanner clatters on the little table but she can’t see it because her eyes are fixed on his. Mesmerized by the way his lips move closer and closer. The way his right hand comes up to tangle in her hair and turn up her face._
> 
> _Their lips meet and for a minute she goes boneless. Relinquishing control to him. Allowing him to explore her mouth, rewarding him with a little sigh of contentment in return. Melting into the feel of him._
> 
> _He pulls away too soon, placing a small peck on her nose then turns away, sauntering over to the sofa to throw himself back down. Like he didn’t just shortcircuit her brain with that kiss. Like he hadn’t sparked a pooling heat in her lower belly. A heat she’s started to feel more and more with each time they’d kiss._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IDK what's going on I just can't stop writing this one! This chapter got so big it _too_ needed to be split in two. So chapter count is going up, but we'll get to answers. Promise promise promise. I believe in the HEA!
> 
> Having said that .. up next: we're building some heat!!

Flying feels … strange. It feels _very_ strange.  
  
Not that it’s novel enough of a feeling to dampen the shattering of her heart. It is, however, enough to give her pause. To reroute her thoughts, focus on the weight of the force pulling her down into her seat. Back towards Earth. It’s not like the reassuring weight of the grav-bars at her shoulders. It’s more insistent and it makes her feel as though she might crumple, squashed under the sole of a boot in the dirt. Like a balled up piece of paper. Like every cell in her body is tethered to Earth and its pull. Like the planet strains with all its might to keep her there.   
  
Keep her where memories haunt her. Where at every turn rejection coils in the pit of her stomach. Where every living being she came across reminded her of Kylo in some way, shape or form. Where she’s lived for the last 8 years as a shell of herself, surviving on memories of love and mundane tasks. The place that makes her think of _him_ and remember the littlest details she _should_ forget but simply can’t.  
  
“Wooohooo,” a loud regulated voice comes from beside her. FN-2187. One of her charges. Finn, a happy go-lucky cadet who is literally always smiling, even when he’s got a bloody nose or broken clavicle. Even when he bombed the examinations and had to stay back a year. She turns her head to reprimand him, but is there a point?  
  
It’s just cadets in the cabin. No one’s here to tell them they can’t savour the ride. No one to frown at their behaviour or rhyme off discourse protocols. If anything, his reaction is one they should _all_ have. One of pure joy. She can almost imagine the childlike grin he’s sporting under that helmet.  
  
Instead of telling him to keep quiet, she simply turns her head to look at him. His helmet is pointed up towards the ceiling of the shuttle and his hands grip the gravity restraints tightly.  
  
“Can you believe it? We’re going H.O.M.E!”  
  
It reminds her of the old holos she’d seen of children on rollercoasters. These odd adrenaline inducing entertainment contraptions from a world long gone and rusted. Buried beneath graphene reinforced skyscrapers and modernization. Tracks of steel with rises and dips, loops and corkscrews. Carts full of anxious riders looking for an adrenaline fix, gripping their shoulder restraints as they look over the hump of the initial drop. She wonders if this is what a rollercoaster would have felt like. If they too travelled so fast you were pulled back into your seat. If it flattened your gut against your spine and stole your breath.  
  
“Pipe down Finn,” she mutters quietly, hoping no one else hears them. It’s hard to tell if they do. No one is reacting or even looking, but she knows the helmets pick up the minutest sound and amplify them if you only command them to.   
  
Using their real names is frowned upon, but cadets do it anyway. In private of course. It’s not meant to be an act of defiance. Just that it’s nice to be a person, not a number. To be called by your given name. The one you’d spent your life growing into before you had another thrust upon you by the institution.  
  
“Hahaaaa,” he howls with glee, head turned to the ceiling still. He’s in his own world and, she thinks, it’s good to give him this moment before duty forces him back onto a schedule. Binds him to protocol and neverending strings of New Republic formalities.   
  
Rey simply shakes her head with a small smile, turning to face forward. There’s no use in talking to Finn. No use attempting to get him to quiet down. In an hour’s time they’ll be at H.O.M.E and her new life will start. At least his little outburst had been a temporary distraction. Given her a brief reprieve from thoughts of Kylo. If anything, his raw reaction has sparked her own little sense of excitement.  
  
There’s a loud whoosh and a screech. It’s the only warning they get before her stomach and body are being pulled back harder. The force of the pull threatens to peel her skin and flatten her against the curvature of the seat. She feels like a bug flattened to a windshield. She knows the GxSuit will protect her, probably already is. Working to regulate the pressure she feels but it's there, tangible and foreign, nonetheless.  
  
The pilot’s engaged the thrusters. She can tell by the speed reading on her visor and the way the number climbs and climbs rapidly. Rey replays the pilot’s words in her head, focuses on breathing through the deafening sound and inhuman pull. 

  
  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

“Can you pass me the hydrospanner?” she asks, one hand deep between the coils of an old temperature regulator. Her father had bargained for it at the outpost and brought it home for what he’d said was pennies. He’d wanted to repair it and install it in her attic bedroom to help regulate the temperature up there, well aware the clunky one downstairs doesn’t quite reach her bedroom.  
  
It’s not that she minds the heat in her space. If she ever gets too hot she just goes downstairs. But there’s something sweet in his worrying about her.  
  
Ben’s hand swings down from his HoloPad to grasp an s-thread spinner off the floor without looking, holding it up towards her.  
  
“No, not that one,” she juts her chin and points at the tool she needs at the other end of her work shed. Ben sighs and puts down the HoloPad, getting up from the bench they’d salvaged from an abandoned vehicle a week ago to waltz in the direction she’s motioning to.  
  
He lifts up an impact wrench and she shakes her head, “no, that one,” she points again a little more directly. His hand hovers over the pile of tools before settling on a mechtorch. “Oh come on, you _know_ that’s not it,” she chides. He only smiles at her and chuckles under his breath in that way that highlights his dimples. She can’t help but feel warmth bloom in her chest, counting the minutes until she’s finished repairing the condenser coils so she can trace those dimples with her fingers. Counts the minutes until she can tangle her fingers in his hair and her tongue with his.  
  
Kissing - _making out_ he’d called it - is her new favourite thing. Not that hugs aren’t. She still enjoys the bodily closeness, but kissing Ben is … well there are no words for it. Encompassing? Exquisite? Divine?  
  
The closest word she can think of is _perfect_.  
  
His hand ghosts over the hydrospanner, picking it up and bringing it to her. He comes in close, so close it makes her _almost_ forget she’s pinching the detached coil to keep it from springing a leak again, wasting precious coolant. The hydrospanner clatters on the little table but she can’t see it because her eyes are fixed on his. Mesmerized by the way his lips move closer and closer. The way his right hand comes up to tangle in her hair and turn up her face.   
  
Their lips meet and for a minute she goes boneless. Relinquishing control to him. Allowing him to explore her mouth, rewarding him with a little sigh of contentment in return. Melting into the feel of him.  
  
He pulls away too soon, placing a small peck on her nose then turns away, sauntering over to the sofa to throw himself back down. Like he didn’t just shortcircuit her brain with that kiss. Like he hadn’t sparked a pooling heat in her lower belly. A heat she’s started to feel more and more with each time they’d kiss.  
  
At first she thought it was just the flies in her stomach buzzing. But each time it progressively pooled lower until one night, after an especially passionate make out session hidden behind the grain silo, she’d gone to bed and found her underwear soaked through.  
  
It’s not like she’s an idiot. She’s been schooled enough to know about the birds and bees. Knows how male and female arousal works. Has even ventured fleeting touches down there on herself. Except she’d never felt compelled to get her rocks off until recently. His kisses have sparked a hunger in her that’s found her in compromising positions on her bed, hand wedged between her legs twirling at the sensitive nub, imagining him practically every night. Imagining it’s his hands sliding through her folds. Imagining the warmth of his body weight. The feel of his bare skin and the press of his lips to hers.  
  
“I just missed you. That’s all.”  
  
A million retorts fly through her brain.

 _I’m right here you dolt_.   
  
_Do that again_.   
  
_Why did you stop?_   
  
_God I love you_.   
  
_Are you trying to compromise the repair?  
  
_ All she’s able to croak out is, “ _You._ ”  
  
He flashes her a mischievous grin from where he’s laying on the bench, legs dangling off the end at the knee and hands clasping his HoloPad in front of his face. He’s cataloging the list of items they still need for a full repair.   
  
Ben had taken the initiative to get the regulator fixed, promising her father he’d help Rey take care of it. Effectively taking a small burden off her father’s shoulders. Some parts he’d been able to get his hands on. She has no idea where he gets these things, if he goes to the outpost early in the morning or gives his uncle a list of things he needs procured. Maybe he conjures them by magic from the sky.  
  
There are, however, parts that aren’t readily available. Both because of their rarity and because of the age of the regulator. Parts they’ve had to scavenge for. Parts they’ve been travelling out into the span of desert for, digging through all kinds of refuse in search of. And that’s no easy feat at the end of July. When the weather can turn on a dime, drastically swing from sweltering heat to torrential rain. From a hot breeze to a whipping sand storm.  
  
They’d found enough parts to get by, shortening their list significantly, but more were missing. That’s why Ben had started keeping a list on his HoloPad to track what was still needed.   
  
Not that she’s thinking about what’s missing on the list he’s eyeing so keenly right now.   
  
No, right now she’d really like to go straddle him and kiss him senseless. Maybe rub up against him to find an iota of relief for the situation he’s just caused while he sits there so casually. Maybe rile him up in return so he can feel as dizzy with want as she does right now.  
  
She wonders what he’d be like. What it would be like to have sex with him. If it would hurt, having never inserted anything of sizeable proportions down there but her own fingers. If he’d feel as good as her fingers feel or if he’d feel _better_. She wonders what he looks like naked. Of course, she’s seen him in just his loose boxers when they swam, but what’s beneath them…  
  
“Are you going to finish that? I don’t know how much longer I can wait to kiss you again,” he chuckles, his words directed at her but his eyes transfixed to the HoloPad.   
  
She realizes she hasn’t moved. That the hydrospanner is still just sitting there on her little table unused. That she might just possibly be gaping and daydreaming.  
  
She shakes her head to clear her mind, fixing him with a glare that holds no heat. “It would be easier if you helped,” she scolds playfully.  
  
“You don’t want that,” he throws her a sideways smirk, putting the HoloPad down on his belly.  
  
“Is that so?” she teases right back, not missing a beat.  
  
“Mmhmm.”  
  
Rey rolls her eyes and grabs the hydrospanner, briefly debating throwing it at him. Instead she bends forward to hover over the small opening in the regulator’s casing, sizing up the task. She’s furrowing her brows and maneuvering both hands into the too tight space, fitting the spanner against the pinched coils to seal them with a salvaged bolt. Her attention so tuned into the work she’s doing that she doesn’t notice him get up and walk behind her. Only yelping in surprise when his large hands span across her hips and wrap around her abdomen. Feeling the warmth of him press against her back.  
  
“I’d be too distracted to help,” he murmurs in her ear.  
  
“Really? Because I see you prefer to _do_ the distracting.”  
  
“That’s because,” he kisses the column of her neck, pressing himself closer, “I’m _so_ distracted.”   
  
The closeness of him, the brush of his lips against the tender skin on her neck makes her shiver. Makes that heat pool in her belly again and she can feel herself growing damp. She can also … is that?  
  
She pushes her body backwards against him in a test, tilting her head to grant him better access and hum her approval. That added press back has her feeling something new, something she’d thought she’d felt but now confirms it. Something that tells her he’s as affected as she is. There’s a hardness against her bum that makes her knees buckle and her skin prickle with sensation. It makes a jolt shoot down her spine, sending a little bead of wetness dripping into her already dampened panties.  
  
Her right hand releases the coil, hoping on hope the bolt is secure enough, and reaches down across her belly to interlace her fingers with his. Pressing their marks together in a way that makes the humming in her ears grow louder. Really, she can’t be blamed for wanting to chase the closeness, for wanting to affect him the way he affects her. Can’t be blamed for shifting just a little to grind against that telltale hardness.  
  
He gasps, squeezing their interlaced fingers and pulling her in closer still. Nipping at her earlobe, he grinds right back in a way that makes her need to bite back a moan. “Very distracted,” he mouths raggedly. His right hand shifts up from her waist, up to her ribs, grazing the underside of her breast.  
  
On a particularly heady hip roll, her eyes shut and she moans lowly, drawing a groan from him. “Fuck, Rey…”  
  
There’s the crackle of a comm at her side.  
  
“Rey? Kylo?” her mother’s voice is muffled from inside the little waist pouch, “dinner’s ready in 15 minutes.”  
  
He grunts against her neck, slowing down their grind just enough for her to feel his erection twitch against her butt. Clearly, he needs more friction, not less, and his male anatomy is revolting against the change in pace. Seeking out friction of its own accord.  
  
“Terrible timing,” he murmurs gruffly. He places a hot, wet, open mouthed kiss against her neck, leaving a wet trail there before he pulls away. It makes a whine bubble in her chest, one she suppresses with all her might. Makes her want to pull him back.  
  
His fingers slide down to her hipbones and turn her around to face him, hydrospanner still clutched like a lifeline in her left hand. He looks … utterly debauched. All frazzled hair and pink in the cheeks, eyes blown wide and kiss plumped lips.  
  
“Terrible, terrible timing.” He kisses her then, long and sweet. Drawing her closer by the hips so she can feel his arousal hot and ready, pressed against her abdomen.  
  
“Dinner never has terrible timing,” she jests when they disconnect, trying to cool the heat they’ve built between them. It comes out a bit breathier than she’d like, then again they’re both practically breathless so there isn’t much need for pretends.   
  
They’ve morphed yet again, from that cozy bubble where touch was enough to something needier. Something that has them interlace their fingers as often as possible to press their marks together. Something that’s heady and charged. A need to consummate and join in the flesh. Whether it’s the marks or just biology, she’s not really sure. Only knows that she _really_ wants it. Wants to give him all of herself.  
  
“My greedy girl,” he kisses her forehead, “but you’re right. We’re all wrapped up for the day anyway. Just give me a minute to deal with the ... uh ... situation. Then we'll go home.”  
  
 _Home_. The word feels surreal coming from him.

  
  


…

  
  


“This is Naboo,” he turns the HoloPad to her, placing it gently on her lap. They’re sitting on the steps of her porch, legs stretched out watching the changing colours of the sky as the sun sets after dinner. Waiting until the last possible second to part for the night.  
  
Their progressing sexual tension still fresh on her mind, replaying like a skipping holo. The feel of him pressed behind her. The span of his hands, the warm suction of his mouth against her neck. It makes her forearms break out in goose flesh.  
  
She looks down at the screen to avert her mind from the growing heat in her body. It’s filled with pictures of a place so green it puts the little clearing by the creek to shame. Alien trees so tall and lush they form a canopy that covers the sky, filtering the light and bathing the ground in green hues. Tall grasses and short ones, foreign flowers in a rainbow of colours she’s never seen in person. Rivers and lakes and _oceans_. Massive bodies of deep blues and turquoise. A tall waterfall spouting water like it’s as common as air. Beautifully domed structures and settlements. Acres and acres of fruit trees and grape vines.   
  
She takes a sip of the unfiltered beer Owen had given her father a keg of. It’s bitter and wheaty but the bubbles prickle her tongue in a pleasant sort of way. Loosens her tense muscles and makes her feel a little warm inside. Then again, that might just be Ben and not the beer.  
  
“Wow, this place is beautiful, Ben.”  
  
What she’d like to say is, _here please, I want us to go here. When can we go?  
  
_ “We’ll go one day. You and me.” He looks behind him to check if the coast is clear, then snatches a peck from her lips. A quick, stolen kiss that makes her giggle with delight.  
  
“Won’t your family disapprove? I mean you are on track for politics, no?”  
  
“Naboo is a well established colony,” he shrugs, smiling that dimply smile that makes her _want_ things. “Established colonies need politicians. It’s a win win,” he grins widely. It’s quite the political answer but she can see the sense in his logic. Hope blooms in her chest and it makes her smile dreamily at him in answer.  
  
“We can all go there, one day,” he starts again, “you, me, your family. Start a new life there.” He turns to look at the sky, hunching over bashfully, colour rising in his cheeks. He takes a sip of his own beer, throat bobbing on a swallow “... and m-maybe … one day ... have a family of our own.”  
  
And if _that_ doesn’t make her heart soar up and up into the clouds. It makes the warmth in her chest radiate out into her limbs, makes her want to throw her arms around him and squeeze him tight. Makes her want to kiss that beautiful pouty mouth of his. Makes her want to say the words she can’t stop saying to him and he can’t stop saying to her. Because this is what the word _future_ means to her - him. Except her parents are a thin slab of weathered wood away and it would be uncouth to do those things so close by.  
  
“I … I’d really like that,” she smiles at him, reaching to interlace their fingers and squeeze. That familiar hum in her ears and a warm electric current surging from between their fingers.  
  
“Me too, sweetheart. Me too,” he squeezes back.  
  
The door creaks open and they pull back their hands in record time.  
  
“Kylo? Oh good you’re still here. I wanted to ask you kids how things are going with the temperature regulator.”  
  
Ben clears his throat a little sheepishly, “it’s going well, Mr. Niima.”  
  
“We still need parts dad. I was thinking,” she taps her chin in mock consideration, because really, she’s already going to do this. Having her father’s blessing makes it a more wholesome venture. “I’d like to go out to the old junkyard tomorrow to scavenge for parts. Would you be alright with that?”  
  
Her father considers, leaning against the post of the awning. He looks up at the sky, appraising, “weather looks to be fine tomorrow. Should be good to go. Got a list of parts you need?”  
  
Ben points at the blacked out HoloPad in her lap, “yep. List is locked and loaded.”  
  
“Good. Good.”  
  
“I’ll pack us a lunch and snacks since we’ll be so far from the farm,” Ben offers. Like he’s trying to placate her father, prove that he can provide for his daughter. Then again, her father doesn’t know they’ve already _been_ sneaking into the desert to look for parts. This is just the first time they’d be going _that_ far.  
  
Her father nods approvingly, turns around to walk back into the house, “after farm duties though, right?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
They chime in simultaneously. Her father only chuckles shaking his head as he opens the door to let himself in. “Like they share a brain cell, swear to God.”  
  
That night they whisper ‘ _I love you sweetheart. Good night’_ and _‘sweet dreams Ben. I love you more’_.  
  
That night her hand snakes beneath her blankets and she touches herself until she sees stars.

  
  


...

  
  


The old junkyard is 74 miles out into the desert. About a 40 minute trip on the speeder. It’ll be slower going on the way back if they find good parts to use. Besides, who knows what else they’ll find to carry back and make use of. The seat they'd wedged inside the shed was one of those surprise discoveries, she wouldn't put it past the junkyard providing some additional scores. She’d shared her face rags with Ben and found an old pair of goggles, giving Ben her newer ones. They’d need to move at faster speeds to get there and that required protection.  
  
When they finally arrive, Ben looks about him awed. And for good reason, it certainly is a sight for sore eyes.  
  
Heaps of rusting metal strewn about the desert in all states of decomposition. Ancient cars and space junk sprawled haphazardly before them. It used to be a junkyard a long, long time ago. The decades have left it abandoned. That and ever growing sprawl of parched earth.  
  
Junk is everywhere, some buried in the cracked and hardened earth. Some laying in heaps. Some melted and reformed into haphazard shapes. Mostly from squatters who’d tried to turn the junkyard into a home at one point in time or another. It never worked. The nearest water source is about as far as the Niima outpost. And that’s 52 Miles away. There’s nothing but flat, dry earth here with nothing that could sustain a life.  
  
Ben whistles. “This … this is something.”  
  
“Pretty impressive huh?”  
  
“Looks like tetanus to me,” he jokes and she can’t help but huff a laugh.  
  
“We both got the shot, didn’t we?”  
  
“Yeah,” he drapes his arm over her shoulders casually and presses a kiss on her head, “we did.”  
  
They stand there for some moments, appraising the remains of the yard.  
  
“Right then, let’s see what we need,” he pulls out his HoloPad from the knapsack and pulls up their list. They need an accelerator, 2 B7 plasma coils, an XE650 coolant pump, an electromotive stabilizer and couplings. Lots and lots of couplings. Any couplings they can find because if not for the temperature regulator, they’ll find use around the farm.  
  
“You know what all of these look like, right?” she teases.  
  
“Silly,” he hip checks her gently, “‘course I do. Together or split up?”  
  
“Both,” she thinks together is slower but too far apart they wouldn’t be able to ask each other for help if a part needed an extra pair of hands for retrieval. Plus if there’s any dangers, being too far apart would put them at risk.   
  
“Alright, in tandem then. Let’s get to it.”  
  
“Look at you!” she pushes his shoulder playfully, “those engineering modules _did_ instill some level of knowledge in you. If only you’d recognize a hydrospanner...”  
  
“No fair,” he whines back, “I _said_ I was distracted!”  
  
They laugh as they make their way towards a set of abandoned army trucks. Heavily rusted with tattered tarpaulins billowing in the breeze. Their first stop in their mission.  
  
Together, they work in tandem, as Ben had put it, tearing through the various vehicles, satelites, pods, shuttles and craft. Old technology and new laid out before them, digging for the parts they need. Ben found a B7 plasma coil in an old shuttle model. From then on they’d kept their scavenging to just the post-repulsorlift times, leaving wheeled vehicles completely out. She found an XE650 coolant pump and some barely corroded couplings in a small cooling unit onboard a private shuttle from the pre-Republic days. All in, the hours passed as they built up a sweat side by side, diving through hatches and pried open doorways.   
  
She’s head first underneath a pilot’s control panel when her comm beeps insistently at her side. It’s the emergency beep. The one that overrides the usual quieter tones of incoming communications.  
  
“Rey?” her father’s voice crackles, “come in, Rey?”  
  
She slides out from under the console, wiping her forehead on her armband and reaching to fish the comm from her pouch.  
  
“Yes, dad?”  
  
“Are you still at the junkyard?”  
  
“Yes. We’ve found some useful parts but aren’t done yet. It’s only…” she checks the backside of the comm for the time, “0200. Everything okay?”  
  
“Have you seen the sky?”  
  
Well, no, she hasn’t actually. She climbs out of the ship she’d slid into, wriggling through the open escape hatch to train her eyes to the sky above.   
  
“Looks fine, dad, what’s wrong?”  
  
“Rey?” Ben’s voice rings out anxiously from behind her. His warm hand lands on her shoulder giving her a small shake to draw her attention. When she turns around to meet his eyes, she sees worry there. Worse yet, she sees a mass of ominous black clouds over his shoulder. A thick and heavy wall climbing up into the sky, moving towards them and snuffing out the sun, bathing the earth beneath in darkness. The clouds move not only towards them but within themselves. The telltale signs of a potential twister.  
  
“ _Shit._ ”  
  
“W-what _is_ that?” Ben gulps, eyes wide with terror.  
  
“That’s …” she turns to her comm, “Dad? I see it. We’re too far to come home. Going to find shelter here. Will comm once we’re secure.”  
  
Her father responds with nervous approval and she tucks the comm back to her side. Necessity overtaking her to keep them safe. To keep _Ben_ safe. Ben who has _no_ idea what the sky is telling them or the danger lurking inside that mass of clouds.  
  
“Ben, we have to find shelter,” she says soothingly. Not that she’s not worried. She is, but only a little. If anything she’s nervous to get to her shelter until the storm passes. She’s weathered this kind of thing out here before, knows exactly where to hide. She’s even set up the little hideout in case of situations like this. Her father raised her to be self-sufficient, afterall. Even if he’d raised her to be headstrong.  
  
But she’d never told her father about the shelter or having weathered this kind of storm out here before. He’d have grounded her speeder and never let her off the farm again if he had known she put herself in danger so recklessly. She’d always smoothly lied she was at the Skywalkers or safe at the creek.  
  
“Grab the pack and loose items we collected,” she instructs as casually as she can, not letting the nervous edge bubbling inside creep into her tone, “I’m going to secure the speeder.”  
  
“Rey? Mind telling me what’s going on?”  
  
She stops at the side of the speeder to look back at him. He looks utterly lost and she can’t help but offer a reassuring smile. Knowing it would be okay. Knowing she’d make sure he was safe.   
  
“It’ll be okay, Ben. We’re safe, I promise.”  
  
“But what _is_ that?” he points to the wall of clouds moving their way. A little bulge in the centre of the formation starting to push down towards the ground.   
  
Rey pushes the speeder to wedge it between the two half buried army trucks, grounds it, then removes their loose belongings from it. She runs to Ben, interlacing their fingers, breaths coming in a little faster now that she’s seen the funnel forming.  
  
“That, might … be a tornado.”  
  
She pulls him towards the northern edge of the junkyard, towards her shelter. “Rey, where are you going? Shouldn’t we get on the speeder and outrun it?”  
  
Rey would like to scoff, to laugh at the ridiculous notion. Even with the fancy alterations he’s made to the speeder, outrunning a twister isn’t a good idea. First of all, sure, if it’s a slow moving one they’d stand a chance. But the debris around the yard could come loose and whip for miles around. They’d be sitting ducks waiting to be picked off by airborne scrap. And that's only if it's a slow one. If it's a bigger one? Fat chance.  
  
Instead, she simply stops, only steps away from where she needs to be. Mostly because he’s stopped. Because he’s pulling her back. Because she won’t let go of his hand no matter what.  
  
“Ben, do you trust me?” she asks imploringly, and maybe a little desperately. They don’t have time for doubt. Don’t have time to second guess what must be done.  
  
“Unconditionally,” he relents, his arm going a little more slack. The first fat raindrops the wall of clouds carries starts falling. Thick and heavy. Thudding against the parched earth and tinkling against the various rusted metals around them. Plopping on their heads and against their clothes.  
  
“Then come on,” she tugs his hand again and this time he follows. Lets her lead. Allows himself to be led towards the old SUV that’s mostly buried. Her shelter from storms this far from home. Pelted by the raindrops that have now begun to include a mix of tiny pebbles of hail.  
  
She pries the latch of the exposed skylight open and motions for him to get in. He slips in first with no moment's pause and she follows in right after just as the hailstones begin to fall in earnest, fastening the thick window above her to seal them in. Her hand waves to her left, feeling for the light switch and she flips it to allow the few working bulbs to illuminate the space of her shelter. Bulbs she’d scavenged from similar era junk in the area and wired to work off a solar panel she’d installed.  
  
It’s an old utility vehicle. Some might consider it an RV from back in the days of cars with tires. It’s just tall enough for her, but too short for Ben who’s hunching against a counter, breathing heavily and dripping wet. His eyes dance across the space, taking in the narrow area. Turning to the front where a plexiglass divider separates the front cabin from the living quarters. The driver cabin fully buried under the hardened earth. The windshield cracked but still intact. He turns his head towards the back where there’s a bed about the size of Rey’s own. The ceiling above covered in small twinkling lights built to mimic the stars. Behind him the short kitchen counter and sink that doesn’t work against which he's leaning. In front, cupboards that she’s emptied and filled with supplies she’s scavenged from other ships and shuttles.  
  
Above them, the hail pelts at the glass and the wind whips but nothing leaks. Nothing rumbles. It’s sturdy enough to keep them safe until it the storm passes.  
  
“Safe,” he mutters, releasing a shaky breath, “we’re safe.”  
  
“We are,” she drops the gear she’s carrying to the floor to walk over to him. To wedge herself between his legs and cup his jaw with her hands, tilting his face to hers. Stroking her thumbs against his wet cheeks soothingly. “We’re safe,” she adds for good measure, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.  
  
His arms come up to circle her waist and he presses his forehead against hers. Like a burden’s been lifted off his chest. Like he’s been on edge and can finally relax.

  
  
  


  
Her stomach lurches as the shuttle shakes against the speed. Shakes against the thinning atmosphere and gravity of Earth. She grips the anti-grav bars like Finn, like the other cadets she observes. Holding on tight like they’re a lifeline. Like they’re her shelter from the storm.  
  
The ship’s comm crackles and she hears the pilot’s voice.  
  
“Exiting atmosphere. Prepare for zero gravity.”  
  
A split second later, she feels herself lift out of her seat, hovering between the restraints and the hard plastic, completely weightless.

  
  



	7. Under the Twinkling Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _His fingers dance back up to her waistband, hooking his thumbs in to start drawing her pants down beneath the crease of her cheeks. It makes a wave of arousal wash over her, from the very top of her spine all the way down into her toes. A blooming heat that concentrates between her legs where she’s beginning to throb._
> 
> _She pulls back slightly, breathing a little harder, a little shallower, flooded with the feel and taste and sound of his heavy breath fanning over her face._
> 
> _“Are you trying to get me naked?” she asks playfully, biting her lower lip._
> 
> _He huffs once, pressing his lips against hers again, “I’m simply making sure you don’t catch a cold.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give you ... 7K+ words of adorable virgins doing adorable virgin things (ie - losing it). Also, chapter count's increased cause YOLO!

Floating. She’s _fucking_ floating. Hovering weightlessly between her seat and the restraints.   
  
It feels a little like floating in water, the way Kylo had taught her. Except she’s not wet right now. There isn’t the sloshy sound of water around her ears or the tickle of its edge as it laps against her skin. There isn’t even the pull of the current. She’s just floating in a waterless, currentless pool of air. It’s a little dreamy and a lot surreal. The fact that she isn’t pulled up against the anti-gravity bars or down into the seat is absolutely mindblowing. There’s no pull _at all_. Like she’s air, so light she’s just … floating. Suspended between time and space. A feeling very similar to experiencing an orgasm with your soulm...  
  
Her throat constricts as a splash of bile licks up against her esophagus. The lack of gravity making her queasy. Her breakfast roiling within, having no gravity to keep it churning low and lapping up against her sphincter. Making her feel like she’s going to hurl. A burning sensation in her lower throat and upper chest that even swallowing doesn’t seem to soothe. Her mouth floods with saliva, ready to lubricate the inevitable expulsion.  
  
The visual display flashes **meclizine injection 15%** _._ What had the pilot said? _Your suit will inject an anti-nausea mix into your O2 tanks, just hold on and breathe deeply until the ship’s forced grav kicks in_. Aah, the anti-nausea mix is being mixed.   
  
Rey focuses on inhaling deeply. Pushing past the nausea and clearing her mind. Focusing on drawing her breath into and out of her lungs, in long, steady, measured breaths.   
  
The air takes on a slightly sweetened scent she can _almost_ taste. One that fleetingly reminds her of the wild camomile that used to grow by the creek. It’s a salve for her queasiness. In _this_ moment she’s not thinking about Kylo. She’s not thinking about the past or future. She’s not thinking about leaving Earth for good or living an empty life among the stars. All she’s doing is counting the seconds until this meclizine stuff kicks in and she doesn’t feel like barfing.   
  
_One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand...  
  
_ There’s a retching sound up ahead. A metallic choke, gurgly and wet. One of the cadets must have thrown up inside their helmets.  
  
 _That’ll make for an awkward ride_ , she thinks.  
  
 _Four-one-thousand, five-one-thousand, six-one-thousand...  
  
_ She’s not sure how long it is. Whether it’s seconds, or minutes, or hours. She counts to 10 seconds then resets to repeat the mantra while she’s breathing. She only knows that, as suddenly as she’d become weightless, floating in the few available inches between her seat and restraints, she comes crashing back down. Her body’s internal turmoil mollified by the medication.  
  
The forced gravity of the shuttle must have kicked in.  
  
She cranes her head to the side now, past the other row of cadets, looking out into the depths of space through the tiny porthole window. Darkness sprinkled with tiny orbs of light, twinkling stars that used to hold promises of a happy future. Like the tiny flickering lights in the buried SUV.  
  
 _Fuck_ , there it goes again.

  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

The wetness of her clothes and the warmth of his touch send a shiver down her spine, making her tremble visibly.  
  
“You’re cold,” he hugs her close. Like he’s not worried about himself. Like he hadn’t just witnessed a funnel cloud forming mere moments ago, a sight that would strike terror in any city dweller that’s lived a sheltered life. Like there aren’t raging winds and pelting hailstones mere inches above their heads. Like the _only_ thing he’s worried about is her.  
  
“Are you alright?” she asks, concern creeping into her voice, wrapping her arms around his neck.  
  
“Better now,” he gives her a little squeeze, pressing his lips to the top of her head.  
  
“Good,” she whispers, “good.” And it _is_ good. Good that he’s better. Good that she’s managed to keep him safe.   
  
Not that it was ever a question of _if_ she could. She knew she _would._ It’s just good that she’s finally delivered. Except now it’s the _after_ , something she hasn’t thought through. She had only one goal in mind and now that it’s achieved … well … they’re alone with the hours stretching before them and a cramped little space. With a bed. One she’d like to maybe put to good use?  
  
She feels his arms shake, whether from cold or waning adrenaline, she’s not sure. Only that she needs to help him through this too. It sets her into action, gives her a reprieve from her tumbling thoughts. She pulls away gently to rifle through the cabinets under his watchful eye. To procure two blankets and offer him one gingerly.   
  
He takes the scratchy woolen blanket wordlessly. Not mentioning that it smells musty or that it’s practically stiff. Not a single scowl or disapproving frown. Only clearing his throat quietly before stripping down to his boxers, giving her a prized view at his rain slicked chest and abdomen.   
  
She knows it’s indecent to be ogling him while he’s shaken and most likely freezing. It’s just that she can’t help being mesmerized by the expanse of smooth skin of him. The body he hides behind his work jeans and shirts. The one she’s seen splashing and flexing in the water. The one that’s gained more definition by way of manual labour over the past two months. And now that she’s kissed him, it’s not just mesmerizing. It’s affecting. She wants to kiss it, to feel it with her lips.  
  
So she does.   
  
Maybe it’s that her nerves were on edge until mere moments ago. Maybe it’s just her wanting to escalate to the next level. There’s a confidence inside her now that makes her brave enough to approach him. To put her cold hands on his warm shoulders. To press her lips to his chest right above his heart.  
  
Ben shudders, a small ripple rumbling across the expanse of pectoral under her lips. “Are you trying to distract me?” he grunts and she can feel the soft lopsided smile growing on his face. Feel that it _is_ distracting him.  
  
She laughs against his skin, pressing one last kiss above his heart, “is it working?”  
  
“Always,” he chuckles roughly, grabbing her gauzy overlay plastered to her body and pulling it over her head. She raises her arms to the best of her abilities, allowing him to peel the clammy garment off her. He repeats the process with her waist pouch and armwraps. Freeing her of her drenched clothes slowly, deliberately, with shaky fingers. Like he’s relishing the act of stripping her. Like he too is nervous. Each item flutters to the floor with a wet plop with the exception of the pouch which he deposits on the counter.  
  
She concentrates on keeping her breathing even which is a _tall_ order with his hands on her. Little shocks of arousal ignite her with every touch. Set her alight with fire, like the little fireflies. Pulse after pulse washing over her, affecting her in the best possible way.  
  
He pulls her bare and damp wrists to him, laying her arms flat onto his chest and enveloping them in his. Eyes flicking between hers, full of the kind adoration that can only exist between two bound souls. And there it is again, another wave of that boldness from within. Like bravery is a cocktail her body’s stockpiled and injects in small doses. That overwhelming warmth in her chest. That irresistible need to kiss him.   
  
Her hands slide up against his bare skin to rest on either side of his head, eyes darting between his before she tilts her head into his. Their lips connect and their string of kisses quickly morph from sweet and tender to deep and heated. Drawing closer together, pressing their rain damp bodies against each other. Rolling their lips softly, transforming into something new. Something needy but unhurried. Like they have all the time in the world. The wet sounds of their mouths, little puffs of expressed air, and the pelting of hailstones above their heads fill the air.  
  
Ben’s hand finds the hem of her tunic, beginning to draw it up. Each brush of his warm fingers against her wet skin sets a new trail of fire. Pimpling her flesh as he ghosts her skin on the journey up. They disconnect their lips only briefly for her to clumsily lift her arms, letting him sweep her tunic over her head and onto the counter with another wet plop.  
  
His hands come back to her waist, wrapping her in his hold tightly, pressing her against him. Warming the cold exposed skin of her abdomen with his. Skin, she thinks, he’s never seen. But he doesn’t stop there. He’s kissing her again, fingers tracing around the waistband of her pants, drawing another line of pure fire where they trace against the top of her glutes, then down further to give her behind a gentle squeeze, pulling her in closer still.   
  
It’s heady, being pressed against him like this, their bare abdomen touching while their tongues continue their unhurried exploration. While he’s touching body parts she’s never felt his hands on. The weight of his pectorals warming her exposed collarbones and she _wishes_ she hadn’t worn a breast band. _Wishes_ she could feel the entirety of his chest flush against hers.  
  
His fingers glide back up to her waistband, hooking his thumbs in to start drawing her pants down beneath the crease of her cheeks. It makes a wave of arousal wash over her, from the very top of her spine all the way down to curl her toes. A blooming heat that concentrates between her legs where she’s beginning to throb.  
  
She pulls back slightly, breathing a little harder, a little shallower, flooded with the feel and taste and sound of his heavy breath fanning over her face.  
  
“Are you trying to get me naked?” she asks playfully, biting her lower lip.  
  
He huffs once, pressing his lips against hers, “I’m simply making sure you don’t catch a cold.”   
  
He showers her with a string of open mouthed kisses. Slow and unhurried like the rest. Punctuated with little nibbles on her lower lip. “Wet clothes … you see...” he tilts down to kiss her chin, tilts his head further to trace her jaw with his lips. “Can compromise...” he tilts his head further to mouth at her neck, her shoulder. “...your immune system,” lips travel lower still to her chest as he bends further and further to press kisses to her sternum, bending her back in the process.   
  
His hands rest to her exposed rump, body shifting slightly to squat down slowly. Lips tracing a line down her sternum and over her breast band to her stomach. “So, you see...” he presses a series of kisses down to her navel where his tongue darts out to lave at the sensitive skin. Fingers hooking into the waistband of her pants to pull them down. Tugging the wet clinging fabric until it’s pooled at her ankles and she’s only left in her underthings before him.  
  
“I’m just being a good citizen,” he punctuates with a particularly hot suck below her navel.  
  
Her breath hitches, hands running idly through his hair, carding through those rain damp tresses as he nudges her ankle up. She obliges and feels him shuck off her boot, hooking her sock with his thumb and pulling the fabric below her foot to set her free. He repeats the process on the other side, his lips and tongue never stopping their sensual kisses against her lower belly. Like he’s shifted to making out with her abdomen while he completes the task of stripping her. Only now he’s moaning lowly, the vibrations from his pressed lips going straight to her core.  
  
“Can’t argue with that, Dr. Ren,” she titters nervously, letting her head fall back.  
  
She’s not cold anymore. No. She’s on _fire._ Wrought with a fever even if her skin feels cold. And he’s the only thing that can soothe it. He’s both the cause and the cure. A paradox she’d happily combust from. She’d like to tell him this, would like to put her arousal into words. Maybe tell him what she really wants right now, but words are hard to find when he’s touching her like _that_.  
  
His hands trail up her calves, over the backs of her knees, her thighs, coming to rest on the curve of her bum, cupping her cold flesh there to pull her closer. To press her further against his mouth. Her kegels clench with want, from the proximity and she closes her eyes to enjoy the overwhelming sensations he sparks. He makes a pleased humm in answer to the small moan that may have escaped her. The only sound her body wants to make under his touch.  
  
His hands travel up to her lower back, lips following suit as he stands back up to hunch against the counter. His tongue flicking briefly over her collarbone and throat before travelling back up to her face. If he hasn’t done this before he’s a _really_ fast learner because he’s working her like an experienced farmer works his combine.   
  
A hand reaches up to cup her cheek and she opens her eyes. What she sees is Ben’s wide eyes, blown even wider. Lips pouting as his eyes dart between her own and her lips. It’s a brief lull that allows them to take stock of each other. To take note of how much they’re affected. How much they _want_ each other. It hums through the bond like a wave until it crests and sets them back in motion, Lips crashing together fiercely.  
  
Their tongues tangle and teeth clack, sucking and nibbling, biting and swirling. All reservations thrown to the wind, leaving them raw and unhinged. His hand travels down from her jaw to paw at her breast band, following the line of the fabric to the back where he finds its pull to release it. The wet fabric plops down unceremoniously to pool with her discarded clothing.   
  
That same hand traces a line from her back to her front, cupping her small breast in his too-large hand. He groans in her mouth and gives a tentative squeeze, kissing her deeper though a little stuttered. Communicating his growing arousal to her as his thumb runs over her pebbled nipple.   
  
They’re both making little sounds. Little grunts and groans, moans and gasps. Hips pressed together where his arousal has made itself known. Has made itself at home. Hips pulsing in little tiny thrusts, searching for friction. Her underwear must be practically useless, soaked through and laden with her arousal but she can’t find it in her to care because it’s the last scrap of fabric clinging to her body and she’s planning on shucking it off in...  
  
A crackle from behind gives them reason to pause. It’s insistent yet muffled.  
  
“Rey?” it says, “Rey, come in?”  
  
It takes her a few seconds to ground herself, to clear the lusty haze and make out whose voice that is. _Shit,_ she didn’t comm her father back to tell him they’re safe.  
  
They separate, breaths coming in heavy pants, eyes glassy and bodies quivering. Ben looks, utterly debauched. His bulge pronounced and pushing against the wet fabric of his boxers, giving her a barely veiled peek at what lies underneath. Just the shape of it, but solid and clear.  
  
Her hands reach behind him to grab her waist pouch, scrambling to free the comm from its confines while Ben leans hunched against the counter catching his breath. Not that she’s much better off, but someone needs to cover their tracks. Someone needs to placate her father and let him know they’re okay before he does something rash. Besides, it would be weird for Ben to answer the incoming comm.  
  
“Dad. So sorry. We’re safe,” she can’t help the way she’s exhaling harshly and only hopes her father thinks it’s from running. From the exertion of finding shelter, not … what is this? It’s not really making out when they’re both practically naked and very aroused.  
  
“You found shelter?”  
  
“Yes,” she considers her next words carefully, cognizant of the fact that she’d like to gain some privacy for what she’s _definitely_ planning on doing now, “gonna power off the comm into emergency mode to conserve power. Comm when the threat is over?”  
  
“Will do. It’ll be a couple of hours. It’s still over us, though we’ve had no twisters. Kylo’s with you right?”  
  
Rey chances a glance at Ben, who’s moved away from the counter and is standing akimbo yet hunched in the middle of the narrow space, eyes boring into hers intensely. It’s a little funny, she thinks. The way he stands there bent forward but his hands on his hips. Wearing only his boxers that cling to the erection that’s screaming for attention. He looks like he’s holding himself together, holding himself back. Though just barely. He looks about a hair’s breadth away from devouring her. Something she rather likes the look of even if his stance is a bit goofy. “Yes, he’s here. We’re both bunking down in a sturdy shelter.”  
  
A pause, “alright honey, be safe.”  
  
“You too dad.”   
  
She switches the comm to emergency mode, placing it down next to her pouch slowly. Nerves on edge, excitement coursing through her veins and _maybe_ a little fear. Because she’s never done this before. Doesn’t know what to expect. Sure she’s gotten the clinical explanation in elementary school but that didn’t broach the intense emotions. It didn’t brace the concept of being turned on or how that part of it works. Just - this goes in here, this spits baby juice, pregnancy, 9 months, offspring. It’s scary in a beautiful sort of way, being on the precipice of charting something new with him.   
  
She releases a nervous, stuttered breath before she turns, knowing there’s nothing between them now. No more interruptions. He’s next to her now, eyes softer and a little worried. “We don’t…” he gulps, lips quirking into a slight frown, “we don’t have to…”  
  
“I-I want to,” she interrupts before she loses her nerve. Before she takes the out he’s offering her. Because she _does_ want this. Wants it more than she’s wanted anything in her life. A silly thought, she muses, considering humanity has done this for eons. It’s how they’ve survived as a species and populated the planet. It can’t be _that_ big of a deal in light of that, even if it _feels_ like standing on the edge of a cliff, excited for the freefall but terrified of the jump.  
  
He takes another step forward, pressing her against the counter, lips ghosting her forehead. “You don’t look like you do.”

Another out. Maybe _he_ doesn’t want to? Maybe all he was doing is responding to her growing arousal? He’s not even looking away from her face for fucks sake and she’s all but bared to him. Shouldn’t he … you know, touch her places? Wait, does she _look_ terrified? Oh God he thinks she doesn’t want him.  
  
“I just … I’ve never…” well, how _does_ she explain her inexperience? I’ve lived on a farm with the nearest people a mile out? The only people I see are your aunt, uncle, and cousin with the exception of the few vendors at the outpost? I’ve seen porn all of once and it was by mistake when the clunky old TV at home picked up a questionable station?  
  
“Neither have I,” he pinches her chin gently between his index finger and thumb, drawing her gaze up to meet his. It’s soft. That impossible softness that makes her melt into a puddle. That same softness from the baseball diamond. The same softness that steals her breath and makes her feel transcendent. The only reaction she can muster is a small nod, eyes glued to his.  
  
She feels his hands moving behind her, feels them do _something_ that isn’t quite touching her. Feels his forearms brush against her arms and sides but not deliberately. Then, she feels a scratchy warmth behind her where he’s draped a blanket over her shoulders. Pulling it down and forward to pinch at her breast like a cape.  
  
“Let’s get you warmed up,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on her forehead. It’s not until his lips connect that she realizes she’s visibly shivering, they’re _both_ shivering. So she grabs the other blanket and mimics his action, draping it over his shoulders to pinch in front of his chest.  
  
They must look ridiculous. Two drowned virginal rats, practically naked and tacky with drying sweat and rain water, standing there staring at each other trembling with crinkled, stiff and scratchy blankets thrown over their shoulders like capes.  
  
No. She won’t let this get awkward. Won’t ruin the moment with one stupid remark or another. She won’t let words steal any more of what they’ve built between them in this tiny space. She needs to take control, _now_.   
  
Her right hand snakes out from under the blanket to find his, interlacing their fingers and pressing their marks together. Electric current running up her arm and the hum of the pulsing energy drowns out everything but him. Enveloping them in a quiet bubble, muting the sounds of the pelting hail and howling winds above.  
  
She shifts to stand in the little hall, pulling him backwards to the bed. Watching his eyes grow wide. Watching his throat bob as he swallows nervously. Watches him follow like a puppy despite their combined inexperience.  
  
When the backs of her thighs bump against the edge of the bed, she takes a shaky breath and sits back, pushing herself further towards the back wall to make space for him. Pulling him forward by the hand where he stoops on his knees to join her.   
  
“We, uh …” he gulps loudly kneeling there awkwardly with a very pronounced erection, “warm. We should warm up.”  
  
 _What?  
  
_ “Here,” he motions, pulling his blanket off his shoulders and patting the ancient mattress. He shifts to lay on his side and drape the blanket over himself, holding the corner open for her to slide in.  
  
She supposes this is _kind of_ part two. They’d have to lay down anyway right? That’s what the diagrams showed. That’s what the lady was doing in the porno she’d glimpsed. So she clumsily folds herself down to lay beside him, pulling the blanket from around her shoulders to drape over them as well.  
  
He pulls her in closer so their bare chests press together, tucking her into himself and adjusting the blankets so she’s fully covered. Enveloped in their own little cozy cocoon. She feels her breathing even, feels the warmth creep into her bones, lulling her into a sleepy daze.  
  
“Better?” he asks huskily. The sound of his voice pulling her from her drowsing. She pulls back her head to look at him with sleepy eyes and she must look content because he gives her that devastating smile and kisses her forehead sweetly.  
  
That’s not what she wants though. In her dreamy haze she reaches her hand up to cup his cheek, to tilt his head down just enough to pull him in for a kiss. It starts off sweet enough but as before, morphs into that same liquid heat.  
  
Their tongues lap softly into each other’s mouths. Slow, delicious drags that send waves bone melting pleasure to her core. The intensity builds and she moans softly into a particularly languid swirl of his tongue.   
  
This seems to set him into action because he shifts on top of her, wedging himself between her legs. Pulling the blanket up to keep her sheltered. Keep her warm. His body presses against hers gently, the length of his erection making contact with her throbbing core. A sensation that’s so potent she’s not sure which one of them groans, just that there’s the intoxicating sound of pleasure. It feels good, so fucking good to feel pressure there. _His_ pressure.  
  
She’s not sure which one of them starts rocking. Which one of them seeks to increase the friction between their bodies. Only that each grind sends wave after wave of heat to her core. She’s a frictionless mess and is absolutely certain the dampness of his boxers has _nothing_ to do with the rain anymore.  
  
Both their abdomen flex and grind into the other with purpose, with increased pressure, hips keening and canting toward one another. His hand travels down her side, thumb running over her pebbled nipple. Pausing there for a minute, licking into her mouth and circling her nipple with his thumb before continuing his trail down to her hip. Gripping it with his big hand and sliding his thumb and pinky under the edge of her underwear. Travelling further down with the edge of them until they’re halfway down the curve of her hip.  
  
In turn she lifts her hips, pressing her warmth against his and he groans loudly into her mouth at the deliberate press. Fingers pausing at her hip to roll his pelvis against her, flooding her senses and making her gasp.   
  
In one fluid motion he’s slid her underwear down her thighs, bumped his head against the ceiling with a muffled _ow_ , shifted off her to toss the sodden fabric to the floor and is back between her open legs. Mouth sealed over her and his clothed erection pressed against her now bared cunt.  
  
And then he starts moving again. It’s a small little grind but it sticks to her and pulls at the sensitive flesh there in a way that’s both _very_ nice but also tugs, making her hiss. His whole body practically jolts off her, head hitting the ceiling for a second time.  
  
“Shit, Rey did … are you … hurt?”  
  
She squirms under his watchful eyes. Because yes, that hurt a bit, but sex always did hurt, right? Was that what it felt like to lose your virginity? Or was that just the fabric of his wet boxers tugging? Nothing went in so it’s gotta be the boxers.  
  
“No I …” she considers how to put it without killing the mood. An especially avid wind whips above them making the SUV groan and shudder. “I think your boxers are … chafing,” she nods down to the culprit. “Let me just,” her hands reach for his waistband and he jerks back a little more, making her hands brush against his erection instead. He yelps helplessly at that.   
  
_Shit_ , she’s screwing the whole thing up.   
  
“Ben,” she tries to sound reassuring but it sounds more like a whine. She wants to kick herself for sounding so needy when he’s clearly the one in want of encouragement. “Take them off,” she tries again, focusing on keeping the whine out of her voice.   
  
His eyes are peeled wide, mouth open in surprise but he closes it stoically and nods. Letting her fingers reach for the waistband of his boxers and start tugging down, mindful of his erection where she tents the hem to pull without yanking. In the blink of an eye his erection springs forth in all its naked glory.  
  
Rey’s only seen diagrams and the one in the porno. Ben’s is … neither. The diagrams were clinical, dissected or flaccid. Ben’s is none of those things. The porno one was like Ben’s, all hard with a flared head but it was nowhere near the size of Ben’s. She supposes that might be a size thing. Ben is … he’s a big guy. It would be reasonable to expect him to be endowed as such. But his is also more vascular than the one in the movie. Not as angry of a red. The flare of his head much prettier, pointier even? Ben’s has no tinge of purple, like the man in the porno. His is a bit more ruddy throughout but still the colour of ... Ben.  
  
Her fingers reach out to touch him of their own volition, grazing the head of him where a little bead of liquid’s pooled on the slit. She touches it gingerly and he grunts, flexing his abs as his dick twitches at the touch. The skin is impossibly smooth and soft. It’s a heady sensation, drawing that kind of reaction from someone she loves so deeply. So she does it again, a little more confidently. Running the smooth pillow of her finger over the tip to spread that bead of liquid. It’s sticky and viscous. Not like water at all, more similar to her own arousal. So she spreads it further down, running her finger down his shaft to slick the little bead further. Ben groans under her touch.  
  
“Is this … okay?”  
  
He nods emphatically. “May I…” he leans back a little more to shuck out of his boxers, leaving him bare before her and _oh_ what a sight he is like this. It’s officially her favourite version of Ben.  
  
He leans over her again, letting the heavy weight of him warm the crease of her thigh, kissing her deeply. Her fingers reach back down to touch him again and he moans into her mouth when she runs her fingers over his head, running them back and forth in a sweeping motion.  
  
“Can … can I show you,” he looks down between them, where her hands are touching the head of him, “can I show you how?”  
  
“Yes,” she whispers, “show me how to make you feel good.”  
  
She watches as his hand reaches down, as he bypasses the head completely to grip at the base of him where he engulfs his length in his fist, wrapping his fingers tightly around himself. Watches as he gives himself a series of pumps. She can do that, right? It can’t be hard. Her hand joins him and they stroke in tandem as his head lowers back to kiss her. Confidence growing ever so slightly, she nudges his hand away with her fingers until it’s only her stroking. He’s groaning with each stroke and it makes her grow bold, enough to tighten her fist a smidge. Bold enough to draw up a little harder, making him hiss into her mouth.  
  
“Did … did that hurt?”  
  
“No … I. Yeah? It’s just I usually have lubric-”  
  
He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. She knows what he means. Friction. A nice wet slide. Like when she touches herself and uses her own wetness to lubricate the little circles she draws.   
  
The same way his boxers had tugged at her skin, her hand is now tugging at his. Lucky for him, she’s a lubrication machine right now. Her hand releases him to rest against her damp curls as she snakes down to collect some of her own slick arousal.   
  
She spreads it over him and he groans loudly as she runs her slicked fist over him now. Pushing his hips forward into her. She gives an experimental pump and that draws another loud groan from him. A second pump and his body shudders, mouth goes slack and he starts swearing, spitting hot white liquid all over her abdomen.  
  
“Shit, Rey I didn’t mean to…”  
  
Did he just? God if that doesn’t make her feel absolutely invincible. She just made the love of her life come in two pumps. Pride swells in her chest and she might just be beaming until she sees the complex emotions on his face. There’s the waning pleasure of his orgasm but also mortification.  
  
“It’s okay Ben,” she soothes, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “That was … hot.”  
  
“I wanted to,” he blushes now, a shiver running through his body as she continues to pump his now softening cock, “do that inside.” He’s pulling himself out of her hand with a wince. He must be sensitive, she thinks.  
  
“Sensitive,” he confirms, lowering his face into the crook of her neck. “Let me make it up to you?”  
  
 _What on Earth is that supposed to mean?  
  
_ She doesn’t have time to consider. Barely has time to recognize that his spend is cooling rapidly on her stomach because he’s moving down. His head shifting lower and lower until he’s curled up against the back of the bed with his head hovering right over her bared cunt where he’s pressing a kiss just on the inside of her thigh.  
  
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.  
  
“W-what are you doing?” she jolts onto her forearms, sending the cooling pools of his come rolling off her stomach and down her sides.  
  
“I…” he looks embarrassed, a little sheepish too, but determined, “I want to kiss you here.” Except he doesn’t let her answer and just does it. Placing a kiss against her folds like he was kissing her mouth.  
  
He licks his lips and his eyes light up with wonder, “wow you taste … amazing. Is that … okay?”  
  
Does it feel good? _Yes_. Does she like the feel of his hot breath against her down there? _Fuck yes._ Does she want him to do it again? _Oh fuck yes_.  
  
She nods.  
  
“Never done this,” he kisses her there again more deeply, his nose nudging against her sensitive clit and she moans, “tell me what you like, Rey.”  
  
“How do you know…” she blushes as he runs a hot stripe up the length of her, moaning lowly and nudging her bundle with the tip of his tongue, “ _aah_ … to do this?”  
  
This time he blushes and she feels absolutely ridiculous. Here they are, completely naked. He’s already orgasmed all over her, his mussed up tresses between her legs where she can only see his eyes and nose, still acting like they’re kids in kindergarten talking about holding hands.  
  
“I umm, don’t judge?” his eyes plead and she runs her fingers through his hair in answer, “I saw it in a porno once and it looked really … umm … hot.”  
  
And then she laughs. Because that is her only frame of reference too. Except she hadn’t seen _this_ done, but the principle is the same. See it done by others and repeat. They’ll grow into their own, of course, but right now it’s all they have.  
  
She nods in agreement and he delves right in. His tongue licking up and down her, circling around her opening and darting in just the slightest. The pressure, the warmth, the _girth_ of his tongue making her moan which in turn makes him bold enough to do it again and again. Tongue delving a little bit deeper each time until he’s fully inside, licking into her the way he licks into her mouth. Apparently he likes the way she tastes because she hears him groan repeatedly, sending vibrations through her core.  
  
He’s using his entire face, licking sloppily and flicking his tongue in and out, and on one particularly avid push he nudges her clit with his nose and she gasps, flexing her hips forward which makes him stop.  
  
“That,” she pants, “that feels _really_ good, Ben. Do that again.”  
  
His eyes meet hers a touch confused and she trails her fingers down to rub against her sensitive bundle, dropping her head back to moan in pleasure. He swats her hand away and replaces it with his tongue, sending her legs shaking and her stomach flexing. Of course he doesn’t miss that that’s the spot so he begins alternating between flicking that little bead and pumping his tongue into her, watching her face for reactions and adjusting accordingly.  
  
He feels good. _So_ fucking good she doesn’t even feel it. Doesn’t feel her orgasm creep up on her. Doesn’t feel herself crest until it’s too late for warning and she barely has time to squeak out “I’m com-” before she convulses around his head on a soft moan and falls back boneless. Ears ringing and stars dancing across her closed eyelids. Right now she can’t feel anything because she’s soaring. He’s taught her how to swim. He’s taught her how to love. Now he’s taught her how to _fly_.  
  
She barely feels him crawl back up. Barely feels him settle himself between her legs. Barely feels the weight of his cock that’s hard again and warm against her belly. Barely notices his head dip to kiss her temple. But definitely hears him murmur, “that was incredible. Thank you sweetheart.”  
  
“Hmmm?” because really, did she just hear that right? What with the ringing in her ears and the way she’s feeling goopier than a bowl of creamed wheat, she’s not sure she heard him right.  
  
Ben lifts his head to face her, his expression as blissed out as she guesses her own is. Face shiny with her fluids. “Thank you,” he whispers then lowers his head to kiss her.   
  
His mouth is slippery and it tastes like her. A heady combination that makes her head reel and only heightens the possibly deliberate brush of his cock against her sensitive bundle. It makes her buck into him, makes her want _more_ and he obliges by resuming that slow grind they’d set when they first laid down on the bed. What feels like ages ago. In another lifetime.  
  
Their bodies build heat between them, their thrusts more frenzied, their kisses deeper. The wet sounds where they’re sliding against each other a stark contrast to the tinkling and howling winds above. They’re damp again, but this time it’s not rain. It’s sweat.  
  
The head of him catches at her entrance on a particularly avid thrust and they both moan in tandem when the heat of him just barely presses into her.   
  
“Ben,” she mewls, the last of her reservations flown out the window but one small thing remains to be discussed. She feels stupid letting it get this far, so utterly stupid she waited this long to bring it up. He maneuvers himself away to slide against her clit again when his glassy eyes meet hers.  
  
“Ben we don’t have protection,” she pants. Not that she cares about it much right _now_ but it would make for an awkward conversation a few months down the line.  
  
“We do,” he groans against the hollow of her throat, “implant,” he pats his bicep, flexing his hips for another delicious slide, “my mom made me get an implant.” He thrusts again a little harder, making it difficult for her to concentrate on anything but the bone melting pleasure he’s eliciting.  
  
“Made me … when I was 16,” his head catches again and she feels the heat of him press inside again. It burns a little but it’s also a little mind-blowing. “Until I’m married,” he rolls his hips pushing himself in just a little further before pulling away.  
  
“Okay,” she murmurs, gulping nervously.  
  
He lifts his head then, having completely stilled between them. She sees his adam’s apple bobbing, his eyes wide and understanding. He nods slowly then brings his left hand up to interlace their fingers over her head. Letting himself slide down to catch at her entrance again and for a brief moment everything goes quiet. Whether it’s their bond or the gravity of what’s about to happen, she’s not sure. Only that it’s as though they’re in the eye of the funnel where the roaring ceases and a calmness takes over. Where the world around you is crystal clear.  
  
“I love you, Rey,” he declares with all the honesty she’s come to know of him.   
  
“I love you, Ben,” she returns in kind.  
  
And then he’s pushing in. Slowly. Ever so slowly. A fraction at a time allowing her to get used to him.   
  
To say that it feels good at first would be a lie. It’s kind of uncomfortable. A snug fit. Kind of like trying to shove a corn husk into your mouth. It fits but it’s a tight squeeze. Except with each inch he gives her, he coos soothingly, telling her how good she feels. Waiting until she relaxes to push in just a little more. Little by little they shift and adjust, push and wait until they find themselves fully seated, skin meeting skin and they both release a long held sigh.  
  
Their eyes affixed on one another in an affirmation of their love, confirmation of their bond swirls around them in an almost palpable pulse of energy.  
  
He lowers his head to her, meeting her lips for a kiss then he pulls out a little to slide back in. Whatever discomfort there was is placated by her ample lubrication and his slow pace. Is soon replaced by waves of pleasure. The squelching sounds of their joined bodies joined by the throaty sounds of desire where their mouths are sealed.   
  
They don’t last long. The friction of his thrusts tips her over the edge in mere moments and the fluttering of her walls sends him into a tailspin. They both come with each other’s names on their lips while the winds above continue to howl and the little lights on the ceiling twinkle.

  
  
  
  
  
  


She gave him everything. Her first kiss, her love, her virginity, her heart and her soul. _All_ of herself. Let him invade every nook and cranny within her freely. No, she welcomed him with open arms. Until she was steeped in him. Stained with his very existence in a way that you can’t scrub off.  
  
And he?  
  
Well he just left. Where one day there was Kylo, the next there was none. Up and disappeared without a word. 8 _years_ without a word.   
  
The message is received loud and clear with every passing second of silence from him. He _doesn’t_ want her. It had all been an act. There’s really no other interpretation. It’s clear as day if only her heart would get the message.  
  
She wonders when he’d had that implant removed. Whether it was the second he got back to his normal life or if he waited. Whether he’d used it to weasel more conquests out of unsuspecting women or has it removed instantly to impregnate his wife.  
  
She feels the pit of her stomach coil heavily, her diaphragm constrict. The back of her throat tighten and the backs of her eyes prickle. And just when she thinks these physiological symptoms of her emotional pain will crest and she’ll have to endure them quietly, she feels them subside and a wave of calm replace them.  
  
It’s a little like when your brain gets the message that you’re full after you’ve been starving. A little like when the painkillers kick in when you’ve got menstrual cramps. The sharpness of the pain whisked away by invisible hands. Like a light switch being flipped off. All the blinding brightness of pain dulled.  
  
 _It’s the meclizine_ , she tells herself humming a little drunkenly in her helmet. A little intoxicated by the mix of drugs in her system that have not only taken the edge off the nausea but also her pain.  
  
She wants to laugh. For the first time in 8 years she’s flooded with the overwhelming need to laugh heartily. To release all the laughs she hasn’t had. To laugh at every funny moment she’d witnessed that was dulled by the emptiness she’s carried since he left. Laugh at how stupid she’d been. Laugh at what a prick he _clearly_ is.  
  
Laugh and ignore the pain she lives with. Laugh because that pain she carries is taking a break, waiting for the drugs to subside so it can assault her again. To do what it always does. To remind her she’s no one.

  
  



	8. Two Gaskets and a Chain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They continue further through the market, towards their destination but not getting too far before Ben veers off track again, attracted to a stall of shiny fruit. Probably grown in one of those high-tech greenhouses. Rey shakes her head but releases his hand so he can converse with the vendor while she fishes through her waist pouch to find her father’s instructions._
> 
> _At the end of the market and to the right. Third hangar in. Plutt’s Repair. Market value approx. 20 - 25 credits._
> 
> _She folds the paper and turns back to see Ben holding out an apple, chomping on another happily._
> 
> _“Got you an apple,” he smiles with juice dribbling down his chin._
> 
> _“Ben! I said after!”_
> 
> _“Feeding you isn’t negotiable sweetheart,” he flashes her a wholesome grin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the story is a bit angsty. The flashbacks are sweet but the presents hurt. Just wanted to put this in writing - I've got 3 more pivotal moments in their past (and yes one is going to be the day he disappears) before timelines converge and we get Ben's first POV.
> 
> Also, IDK why but I'm not 100% sure about the tags. I keep changing them because I can't seem to get them right. I've got this whole story in my head but can't seem to explain it properly through the tags or the summary, hence they're always changing. If you have any suggestions, pls let me know.

“You think one of us will get that mission?”  
  
 _Huh_?  
  
She blinks a few times to remember where she is, lulled into a sleepy daze by the cocktail in her system. It’s nice to not feel any pain. Nice to not think about _him_ for a minute. A pleasant change from the usual onslaught.  
  
Sure, she’s learned to deal with it. Ignores it the majority of the time. But that doesn’t negate that she carries that ache with her every minute. Even when she’s standing stock still in a line of cadets, even when she’s sparring with a quarterstaff, or when she’s target practicing with a blaster. There’s always that pressure of a vacuum in her chest, it feels like being on the brink of imploding. Feels like it’s ready to cave in her chest like a black hole and pull her into that dark void.  
  
She turns her head towards the sound of the modulated voice to find Finn’s helmet cocked towards her expectantly.  
  
“What’s that?” she asks woodenly.  
  
“The mission. The one the pilot was talking about. Do you think one of us will get it?”  
  
He’s definitely looking at her. Trying to make chit-chat to help with his nerves. Or hers? Maybe it’s just his excitement and chatter is just his manifest version. He’d always been the chatty sort.  
  
“It’s not for me to say,” she answers curtly, hoping it’ll shut the conversation down. They’ve already said too many words in a shuttle full of silent cadets with amplified hearing.  
  
“Well I for one hope so,” he chirps nonchalantly. Like he’s not bothered by the fact they’re breaking practically every rule they’d had drilled into them at the academy. The topic of conversation in the metallic tones of their voice modulators must sound absolutely ridiculous to anyone listening in.  
  
“I’d _love_ to run a mission for the senator _or_ her son,” he nods and she can feel the resolve behind his distorted voice. The one that’s probably written on his face if she could only see it. “Bet it’d be wild,” he adds wistfully.  
  
“I’m sure they won’t give high profile assignments to green agents like us. It’ll be an elite task force with plenty of experience.”  
  
 _Why_ is she even responding to him? Why has Finn always been so good at drawing conversation out of her? Even at the academy’s mess hall he’d managed to weasle her into banter when he’d happily plop himself into the nearest seat and just start chatting. It’s like a reflex to answer him, to engage. One she doesn’t usually indulge.  
  
His helmet turns forward, like he’s finished with the conversation and she releases a breath, thankful it’s over. Thankful that he’s chosen to fall back in line and she won’t have to make a fool of herself or her squadron in front of the others. _God_ she hopes none of them rat her team out to this Admiral Ackbar.  
  
“Do you think he’s really that bad?”  
  
 _Oh for fucks sake Finn_!  
  
“Who?” she lies smoothly. She knows exactly who he’s talking about. The senator’s son that the pilot shat on before takeoff. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s probably a rich brat raised with all the comforts of being a senator’s and a general’s son. He’s probably a decorated captain or general or some other high ranking official as well, or a politician.  
  
Her heart clenches but the pain that accompanies it is whisked away almost instantly. When she gets to the MedBay she’ll ask for a regular dose of this meclizine stuff. If they can’t remove her mark or excise her memories, that is.  
  
“The senator’s son. Do you think he’s really a ‘brooding nightmare’?” he accentuates with air quotes.  
  
“That’s none of our business,” she deadpans, turning her face away from him. Hoping he’ll drop this line of conversation already.  
  
“I for one think he’s sad, if anything,” Finn speaks to himself looking down at their feet, “I mean, what if he’d just had a bad day? What if he got some really bad news that night? What if he lost the love of his life?”  
  
Rey scoffs audibly, not caring if anyone heard. What do _they_ or Organa’s son know about losing the love of your life. _Nothing_. That’s the answer. They know _nothing_.  
  
She _knows_ what loss feels like. What it tastes like. The way it mars your skin and tattoos your viscera. The way it creeps into your DNA and never leaves.  
  
Whatever loss that rich kid experienced, _if_ that’s even the case, couldn’t possibly compare to losing your soulmate. 

  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

She’s not really sure how they got here. One moment they’re trying to attach the new B7 plasma coil, the next the hydrospanner is clattering to the floor, thudding against the packed earth beneath their feet. Well, Ben’s feet.   
  
She’s sprawled across the table with her legs spread wide, completely naked, covered in a sheen of sweat, panting heavily with an impact wrench digging into her upper back. Ben is hunched over her thrusting roughly in a way that jolts throaty little moans out of her and makes her breasts bounce against his sweaty chest.  
  
He’s gripping her hips tightly to stabilize each thrust and panting into her neck with each drag, creating a heady staccato of grunted puffs near her ear.   
  
“Feel … so good … sweetheart,” the words fan across her saliva slicked neck where he’s practically drooled all over her, dragging his tongue across the skin sloppily. She tightens her grip around his shoulders, running one arm up to thread her fingers through his hair and pull him closer. Hips grinding up to meet him thrust for thrust. He’s right, it does feel good. Though she wouldn’t use that word. It’s too … vanilla. It feels so much _more_ than good.  
  
After they’d napped and eaten his sandwiches in the SUV, they’d done it once more and even though she was sore, the need for him far outweighed her tenderness. They learned new things about each other. Discovered how to make the other writhe with pleasure, taking their time to learn each other’s bodies thoroughly. The second time they’d had sex the sun was already beating through the skylight, baking the air within. They’d been sweating profusely, dripping all over the ruined mattress and each other but giving absolutely zero fucks because they were together.  
  
Since then? It’s become her new favourite. Not that hugging and kissing him weren’t already her favourite things. This was just divination of a different calibre.   
  
Being naked with each other had come so naturally there was no room for embarrassment. Sure, she knew from the holos that city girls were well groomed. Had no hair under their pits or on their legs, probably kept down there neatly trimmed and all. But he didn’t seem to mind and she quite frankly didn’t care. Because the way he devoured her, the way he ravished her told her everything she needed to know.  
  
Since then, they’d christened the dock a few times - she’d gotten a splinter in her butt the first time, which he’d had to pull out awkwardly afterwards. From then on he’d lay down his shirt so she wouldn’t get splinters. They’d christened the bench in her shed _a lot_ \- finding a new position that had her straddle him and hit new places inside. They’d even christened the speeder once - another straddle she quite enjoyed but it had been awfully unbalanced. They’d ended up shifting off to fuck against it instead.   
  
The worktable is new. Not her favourite, though maybe it’s the plethora of parts and tools digging into her skin responsible for that. The angle is nice, primal even. Like they didn’t have time to find somewhere more comfortable. Like they needed each other right then and there. And for all intents and purposes, they did. The draw to one another is inhuman, really.  
  
His body stills on top of her and his face pulls up to plant sloppy kisses over her mouth before he straightens out. His eyes trail down her body, thumbs prying her legs apart further when his eyes meet where they are joined and he groans grinding his hips into her.  
  
She takes a minute to drink up the sight of him in her haze of lust. The way he’s slack-jawed and dripping with sweat. The way his eyes have honed onto where he’s grinding into her with awe. The way his hair hangs limply over his face and the way his fingers twitch against her hips.  
  
He runs his fingers through her folds, splitting them on either side where they’re joined and coming back to sloppily rub against her nub expertly, making her back arch off the table. A few rusty couplings tumble to the floor when she sweeps her arm up to grasp the top of the table. When she reaches for anything to ground her from the bone melting pleasure he’s bestowing on her.  
  
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, wild eyes never leaving where he’s grinding into her, where he’s stroking at her and making her clench against the hardness she’s so full of. “So fucking beautiful when you’re stuffed full of me.”  
  
It turns out he’s quite vocal. Murmuring filthy things to her during the act. She hadn’t learned that until their first time on the dock when he’d declared he _loved feeling her tight pussy grip his cock_ and that he’d _fill her sweet little cunt with his come_. He’d looked abashed afterwards but she told him she liked it, so he kept on talking. It heightened the experience, though one day she’d like to learn where he came about such language. Her best guess for now was porn.  
  
His hand travels up to paw at her breast, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and index finger while his grip on her hip tightens. He pulls out a little only to push back in with a loud groan.   
  
She watches his hand travel from her breast back to her hip, bracketing them and holding her open. Watches him begin to pump into her again, fascinated. Watches his abs flex with each thrust, each grunt. In and up like he’s relishing the look of himself disappearing into her body. Enjoys watching the way his abdominal muscles contract highlighting his vee where it curves between her legs. Feels the way his cock creates a hot slide inside her. Hears the wet squelch of their coupling paired with his drawn out expletives. Long, drawled _fuuuuuck_ -s.  
  
He pulls out of her and she’s about to protest when he hunches over to seal his mouth over her core. Tongue delving inside to probe her where he’s stretched her open before trailing up to flick roughly against her clit. He’s moaning against her, creating a vibration that sets her nerves on fire and sends her legs twitching. She arches into it, moaning his name, egging him on.  
  
“Needed to…” he sucks her bundle between his lips creating sweet suction that makes her hips keen, “taste your sweet pussy.” He’s rumbling the words against her, fisting himself. Hand gripping his base tightly before pumping in short, deliberate strokes.  
  
Just as quickly as he’d gone down, he comes back up. Lifting one leg over his shoulder and lining himself up. The hunger in his eye is erotic in a way that can’t be of this dimension. It’s … multi-dimensional? She can’t help but laugh at that and he looks up from where he’s smacking his erection against her clit, sliding it back and forth messily.  
  
“What?”  
  
She giggles again, louder this time. Throwing her hand over her mouth to stop the onslaught. “Nothing,” she forces out between huffs, “you’re cute like this.” Cute isn't really the right word, it's just the first available one.  
  
“I just…” he chuckles darkly against her knee, lining himself up and pushing in again. A change in pace so devastating it knocks a screwdriver off the table, douses her laughter and replaces it with a choked sob. “I just needed to taste you,” he grinds out watching himself fuck her. “God, Rey. You look so good like this,” his lips are kissing her knee, licking there sloppily while he thrusts faster, eyes trained down to where they’re connected, “you should see yourself take me.”  
  
She wants to, but the way her leg is thrown over his shoulder makes it a bit hard to lean up. As does the fact that he’s thrusting into her with gusto and if she didn’t hold on for dear life the whole worktable might cave under their weight.   
  
“Ben…” she chokes, legs shaking.  
  
“Fuck, baby come for me. I don’t think I can,” he grunts on a particularly avid thrust, “last much longer.”  
  
She’s nodding. Nodding emphatically. With all that she is and all that she has. She’s so close. _So_ close. What she needs right now is the weight of him. The weight of his body and their bond. She needs his mark.  
  
She tentatively lets go of the top of the table and paws at his left hand, the one that’s cradling her thigh. As if he understands he releases her leg to the side, curling over her and slowing the pace. His sweaty body presses against hers and he kisses her fiercely. Tongue lapping over hers languidly but lips pressing with the same ferocity he’d fucked her with only moments ago.  
  
His hand snakes up to meet hers, intertwining their fingers above her head. He pulls back just a little to murmur “come for me, sweetheart,” his thrusts slow and heavy but faltering. Like he’s barely holding on by a thread. And she does. She’s not sure if it’s their joined marks or just him, but this closeness is what she’s come to associate with orgasms. She lets it wash over her and falls apart beneath him trembling. Only moments before he too sheathes himself one last time and comes apart inside.

  
  


…

  
  


Dinner is a simple bowl of polenta with grilled corn and shredded cheese courtesy of Ben. The four of them sit quietly at the table scooping in spoonfuls of the hot porridge before it hardens as the sun begins to set outside and droplets of a light summer rain pelt against the window.  
  
Rey is trying her hardest not to blush when she catches glimpses of Ben. Tries to repress memories of what they’d done earlier in the shed. It’s hard though. Hard not to see his sweat slicked body panting over her. Hard to ignore the things she feels for him. Hard to ignore how much she wants to interlace their fingers and let that pulsing energy hum. She wonders if her pull to him will ever diminish. If time will quell the roaring flame and reduce it to a slow burning ember. If she’ll ever get tired of hugging him. Kissing him. Feeling him fill her.  
  
She chokes on a mouthful of polenta, her throat having spasmed while imagining his choked moan when he came in the shed. His eyes flick over to hers, colour rising in his cheek as he licks his spoon a little too suggestively. “You okay sweetheart?”  
  
Rey can only nod back, fighting the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes from the burning scrape against her trachea. Averting her eyes from his.  
  
Her mother looks at her concerned as does her father who reaches his hand across the table to rest on hers. Neither seem to have either noticed or given thought to the term of endearment Ben just dropped.   
  
“Fine,” she coughs to dislodge the scratchy feeling in her throat, “wrong pipe.”  
  
“Alright honey,” her dad pats her hand lovingly, “how are the repairs going on the regulator?”  
  
Ben, luckily, takes over the conversation because she’s about one more spasm away from _actually_ choking and she doesn’t think speaking will bode well for that. _Well dad, you see, we were repairing the thermal regulator, even got the last plasma coil hooked up before we sort of really needed to fuck_.  
  
“It’s going great, Mr. Niima,” Ben says smoothly, “The last B7 is in. Yesterday we connected the electromotive stabilizer Owen got. Tested it and it seems to be holding up just fine.” He scoops a spoonful of polenta into his mouth, chewing slowly before swallowing to continue. “Not done yet, though.”  
  
“What parts are you still missing?” her father asks without missing a beat.  
  
“Accelerator. Hard to get a hold of and any place we’ve tried to scavenge has already been stripped clean of it.”  
  
Her father nods in understanding. Of course he knows. _Everyone_ at the table knows that the accelerator is like the heart of a machine. It pumps the fluids through the coils and keeps its pace. It draws in latent heat produced by the machinery and converts it to electricity to keep it running like a built-in power generator. Which makes it valuable to scavengers and repair shops alike, commanding top dollar at the pawn shops and always the first item stripped out of fresh wreckage.  
  
“Plutt gets new parts every Thursday,” her father says thoughtfully while scraping the side of the bowl, “you should go see him tomorrow around 0800. He’ll have the new stock priced and ready for purchase by then. I … can’t guarantee the price but I can give you as many credits as we can muster.”  
  
Ben nods. Rey stares down into her empty bowl. Her mother is at the kitchen counter slicing up sponge cake and drizzling it with homemade corn syrup.   
  
“You okay to take Kylo into town tomorrow honey?”  
  
Rey nods, clearing her throat and smiling softly at her father, “sure.”  
  
“Good. Owen’s coming in the morning to help me with the combine so I won’t be able to go but I trust you two. You can take the landspeeder if you want.”  
  
She grins widely at that, drawing a hearty laugh from her father and a nervous one from Ben. They both know she’s a speed demon and while her father thinks it’s cute, Ben’s had to experience it. “I’d like that.”  
  
After dinner she walks Ben to the speeder to see him off. Not without a long and lingering makeout session hidden behind the silo where they’ve taken to stashing the speeder. Was that even a make out session? He’d pinned her against the silo and ground their bodies together until he’d made her come. She thinks he too came in his pants though she didn’t ask.  
  
That night she falls asleep to ‘ _I love you, Rey,'_ and _‘I love you, Ben_ ’.

  
  


…

  
  


She’s never seen Ben around people. Other than their families, that is. So it’s a pleasant surprise to see him so entranced in the colourful wares strewn across the different tables at the market. Like he’s never seen an outpost.  
  
She fleetingly thinks, as she’s pulling his arm away from a table full of handcrafted jewelry, that he must be used to ordering whatever he needs through his HoloPad or going to fancy stores where items are procured. Catered to his whims rather than assaulting his senses.  
  
He’s stopping at practically every stall, oohing and aahing, talking to the vendors and hearing their pitch. It’s sweet, she thinks, but also dangerous. Because in her waist pouch are credits her father expects them to spend on an accelerator and the more things he looks at, the higher the probability something will strike his fancy. Not that he doesn’t have his own credits to spend. She just doesn’t trust herself. If he were to face her with that wholesome dimply smile of his and glittering eyes, she’s not sure she’d be able to say no and there’d go her family’s money.  
  
He listens to each vendor’s story, watches them showcase this item or that theatrically. Lets them pitch the sale before looking at her for permission. Before seeing her disapproving glare and excusing himself with a polite _thank you we’ll think about it_ , that is.  
  
It’s sweet. Sweet that he says _we_ instead of _I_. Sweet that he understands her expression and reservations, accepting them wordlessly as law.   
  
She places a peck on his cheek, interlacing their fingers and pressing their mark together. The first time they’d ever done either in front of anyone and now they’re doing it in front of crowds. “I promise once we have the accelerator we can look at whatever you want.” And she means it.   
  
He’s spent the last 3 months secluded on miles of farmland with only 6 people to interact with. He’s from the _city_ where people are more plentiful than kernels in her silo. This must feel like a homecoming to him and she’d like to let him enjoy more of it, but only once they get the part. If Plutt even has it, that is.  
  
The returning smile he gives her practically short circuits her wiring. She momentarily forgets why they’re here, where they even are, what breathing feels like. Completely lost in those happy puppy eyes and crooked teeth he’s showering her with. Their bond humms and for a moment she swears the loud crowd around them goes absolutely still, like time has stopped in his presence.  
  
They continue further through the market, towards their destination but not getting too far before Ben veers off track again, attracted to a stall of shiny fruit. Probably grown in one of those high-tech greenhouses. Rey shakes her head but releases his hand so he can converse with the vendor while she fishes through her waist pouch to find her father’s instructions.   
  
_At the end of the market and to the right. Third hangar in. Plutt’s Repair. Market value approx. 20 - 25 credits.  
  
_ She folds the paper and turns back to see Ben holding out an apple, chomping on another happily.  
  
“Got you an apple,” he smiles with juice dribbling down his chin.   
  
“Ben! I said after!”  
  
“Feeding you isn’t negotiable sweetheart,” he flashes her a wholesome grin.  
  
She takes the apple because, well, she’s never had one. Turning it over in her hand to appreciate its bright red colour, the firmness of its flesh, the shiny smooth skin. She looks back at him for cues and begins to mimic his actions. Biting into it to release the tangy sweetness within, ripping out a chunk of its spongy flesh, chewing it skin and all to release more of that delicious flavour. It’s almost as mind bending as Ben’s smile, _almost_ , so she humms in contentment flashing him a thankful smile. One he answers with a soft kiss to her forehead.  
  
“How much did you pay?” she asks as they continue their stroll down the market lane.  
  
He simply shrugs, continuing to munch on his apple.  
  
“Ben!”  
  
“Fine,” he takes another bite, chewing deliberately to stall, “a credit.”  
  
“A _credit_?!” she asks incredulously, “for both?”  
  
He turns to her a little sheepishly, ears turning a slight red, “uh… each.”  
  
“Ben!” she gulps the chunk of apple she’d been masticating heavily, realizing just how expensive each bite was. “You can’t just … they’re not even … they’re worth a quarter credit each at best!”  
  
He looks down at his apple, turning it over and analyzing it as if it’ll magically sprout a price tag. He must be a terrible, _terrible_ , negotiator. Did he even _try_ to haggle?  
  
“Did you even try to bargain?”  
  
He shakes his head bashfully, looking a little pitiful.  
  
“We sell our ears for three credits a bushel. That’s about 37 ears per credit, Ben. Granted apples are harder to grow but, on principle, no food is worth a credit a piece.”  
  
“I…”  
  
And there he looks about to cry. Eyes downturned and glistening, brows furrowed and shoulders slumped. Did she do this? Break him? Sure she’s upset he’d been swindled but she didn’t mean to make _him_ upset. And now she’s upset that he’s upset and it’s all her fault. She’d like to turn around and give that vendor a piece of her mind for taking advantage of poor Ben.   
  
“I just … wanted to make you happy,” he hangs his head with finality, like he’s accepted defeat.  
  
“No, Ben. You did. You do. I _love_ the apple. I’ve …” she wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him in tightly, “I’ve never had an apple. Thank you.”  
  
He releases a shaky breath, hugging her back. “I’m sorry I screwed that up.”  
  
“You didn’t,” she presses a kiss below his ear, “we’ll just have to teach you to haggle. That’s all.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” he confirms giving her a squeeze around her waist.  
  
“I love _you_. No amount of credits or apples will ever change that,” she adds for good measure.  
  
“And I would give up every one of those credits and apples to make you happy,” he adds.  
  
“I know,” she pulls back and smiles.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he nuzzles his nose against hers.  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Ben,” she whispers softly, “that vendor does though.” She presses her lips against his and interlaces their fingers, allowing them to reset.  
  
They continue walking hand in hand down to the end of the market, eating their overpriced apples while she explains the finer points of bargaining.  
  
“You first hear them out, see what they offer you. Never speak first, let them do the talking. Be cognizant of them. If they seem slimy they’re overpricing by a lot. If they seem honest, they’re only marking it up a little. When you get a price, you offer a quarter less, unless they’re the slimy sort in which case you offer even less. It also depends on the product you’re bargaining for. Food can be haggled down more than parts or hardware. Once you make your counter offer, let them give you another. It’ll be higher than yours but lower than their original. Feel them out and push if you feel there’s more wiggle room. Barter them down until you get the price you want or you think they’ve reached the end of their rope.”  
  
His head seemed to reel but he gobbled up the pointers with utmost concentration. Brows furrowed and head bobbing in understanding.  
  
When they get to the end of the market lane, she tells him to go put his newfound skills to the test. _Bargain for something and show me what you’ve found_ , she’d said. It was a distraction so she could talk to Plutt alone, aware that one look at Ben and his fancy (though better worn now) city garb and she’d be quoted double the price. He nodded and kissed her forehead. Agreeing to meet back at the end of the lane when they’re done.  
  
She find’s Plutt’s easily from there. It’s a small old hangar with a rusty sliding door and dim lights. She also finds Plutt who’s an overweight old man with a big bulbous nose and a scowl that’s been etched into the hard lines of his face for what seems like centuries.  
  
He _does_ , in fact, have an accelerator he'd just gotten in that morning. It’s old and a bit rusted but one look and she knows it’s the right fit. He offers it to her for 20 credits. She thinks back to her father’s note and thinks it’s a fair price but would like to save credits if possible, so she keeps her cool while offering him 15. They eventually settle for 18 and she walks away with the last part and 8 saved credits in her waist pouch. Her father is going to be so proud.  
  
She returns to their meeting spot, not seeing Ben and assuming he’d gone back to one of the shiny stalls they’d seen at the beginning of their stroll. She’d been so hard on him earlier, traces of her disappointment in herself still linger. So she decides to bide him time, taking a seat on a crate to finish her apple, core and all. The stem and seeds are a bit tough to chew, a little bitter even, but it’s a still new flavour she relishes, committing it to memory.  
  
She waits and wonders just how comfortable of a life he leads if a credit for an apple seemed like a fair price. Wonders just how deep his pockets are and how his family would ever perceive her, a nobody from nowhere, being with him. If they’d accept her or try to separate them. If they’d think she was after him for money. If they’d even understand their bond.  
  
Time seems to pass but no Ben appears. Worry sets in at not knowing where he is. It’s worse now than it was all those months ago at the creek when she thought he’d drowned. Worse because they’re closer. Worse because they’re bonded. Worse because she doesn’t know exactly where he is. She forces the anxiety down, rubbing the soft flesh inside her middle finger to soothe herself.  
  
She’s got nothing to worry about. He wouldn’t leave her. They’re bonded and he _loves_ her.  
  
And her musings are confirmed because Ben strolls into view just then, hands deep in his pockets and a big grin on his face. He sweeps her up and hugs her close, showering her face with kisses that make her giggle uncontrollably.  
  
“Ben!”  
  
“I missed you, sweetheart,” he kisses her nose right there, in front of everyone without a single worry. It makes her feel special, it makes her feel like she’s _his_. Makes this all seem real and for a moment she glimpses their future where they’re walking through a market like this one hand in hand, her belly swollen and his hair longer. “Did you get the part?”  
  
She nods. “Did you find anything to bargain for?”  
  
He looks confused for a second, then he shakes his head resolutely. “Nothing I thought I’d get a fair price for.”  
  
They walk back through the market. This time he’s not interested in looking at any stalls. Only holding her hand and squeezing at intervals. As they get into the landspeeder with interlaced fingers, she sees his right hand rolling around in his jean pocket and smiles. He _did_ find something and he’ll show her when he’s ready.

  
  


…

  
  


“How’s your end?” she yells towards Ben who’s at the other end of the row.  
  
“All clear,” he yells back, “yours?”  
  
“Ditto … as usual.”  
  
Because it is. The irrigation pipes are _fine_. That still hasn’t stopped her dad from requesting they do checks every bloody day.   
  
Tufts of clouds collect above their heads, spelling another light summer rain. They’re her favourite. Not as heavy as those in July but warmer, lighter like what she imagines an ocean spray would feel like. Nourishing even.   
  
They squeeze through a set of stalks to move onto the next row and repeat the process, meeting in the middle here. That’s their routine. Zig zagging through the rows until they’ve checked every pipe. They’d start in the middle and walk to the end, move onto the next row where they’d start on opposite ends and come together. Back and forth and forth and back until they finished the fields.   
  
This time when they come together, he hugs her tight, showering her face with kisses.  
  
“Don’t say it,” she swats his chest lightly, laughing under the brushes of his lips.  
  
His answering smile beams brighter than the sun and she knows he’s going to say it anyway.  
  
“Can’t stop me,” he grins back planting a sloppy kiss on her lips, “I missed you.”  
  
A drop of rain lands on his nose and runs down the bridge to dangle off the tip. Another falls and hits his brow. She feels one on her own forehead. Another on her lips. The heavens have opened to let a light, languid rain grace them.  
  
He bends his head to capture her lips in earnest, her body responding naturally. Melting against his, letting him engulf her. It’s beautiful and sweet, as languid as this late summer rain.  
  
She feels his hand glide from her waist, fall aside and rustle in his pocket. Feels him struggle to find the right moment to disconnect their lips before pulling away to dart his eyes between hers.  
  
“I have something for you,” he gulps heavily, producing a small black velveteen bag from his pocket. It’s tiny and it looks soft, it tinkles inside like it’s filled with small bits of metal.  
  
He takes her hand and turns it over, opening her palm to the sky where a few raindrops begin to pool. Pulling the strings he opens the little satchel and gingerly pours two beautifully crafted, delicate o-rings and a thin chain in her hand. They’re lightweight, embossed and etched with fine filigree designs, like they’re not meant to be used but are more decorative.  
  
She looks at him confused. Why is he giving her decorative mechanical gaskets? What is she supposed to do with them? Whatever will that flimsy chain hold together? They don’t even need these for the thermal regulator. Besides, they’d fixed it last week and installed it. It works like a charm now, any tweaking would be superfluous.  
  
“One for you, and one for me,” he says, picking up the smaller one and lightly brushing her left hand up between them.   
  
It’s only then she realizes what this is and she may or may not have started getting teary eyed. Her breathing picking up and lip trembling.  
  
“I know they’re nothing special and the real ones will be, but …” he pushes the little gasket onto her ring finger and his eyes light up when he sees it fits, “I wanted to do this to show you how serious I am. I … it’s … a promise. A promise ring. One for you and one for me.”  
  
He looks in her eyes a little worried, mouth turning into a small frown like he’s messed something up but determined to finish.  
  
“The chain is … so you can wear it around your neck if … if you’re embarrassed to wear it on your finger.”  
  
She’s staring. _Of course_ she’s staring. Her handsome, sweet, thoughtful, incredible soulmate is promising her a future. How could she _not_ stare at him enraptured?  
  
“I did it wrong. I’m sorry. You don’t like it,” he swipes his hand across his face and groans, “I just … wanted to give you something concrete and I blew it.”  
  
 _Blew it_? He’s just made her the happiest woman on Earth. How could he think she doesn’t like it? She _loves_ it. Loves _him_.  
  
Then she realizes she’s been staring at him with tears in her eyes and her mouth agape.   
  
In a split second she pounces, falling down onto the damp earth with him, kissing him senseless. Her fingers fidgeting with his hand to push his o-ring down on his finger while they both laugh teary eyed against each other’s mouths.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“...like, what if his wife left him? Or they had a miscarriage? What if his pet goldfish died? What if his kid’s got pneumonia? You can never judge a book by its cover. That’s what my momma used to say.”  
  
 _Huh_?  
  
Oh, right. Finn is still talking. About … right the senator’s son and his _maybe_ loss. Her left thumb idly moves to rub against the lump inside her glove. Against the ring on her finger.   
  
“Finn, _shut up_!” TZ-1719 pipes in from the end of the row. “You’re going to get us all in trouble. Keep it together a bit longer will you?”  
  
Jannah. She’s always been dependable but a force to be reckoned with. One of the only women aside from Rey in this graduating cohort. She’s fierce and dependable and Rey is thankful for her piping in to keep Finn quiet. Because right now she’s not sure she could find her voice.  
  
Sure, he’d left her. Left her to rot on Earth alone like they weren’t soulmates. But she’s never taken the ring off. Not once. Not to shower, not to train, not when she worked in the fields. Nor that night so long ago, when she’d come down from her bedroom crying and her parents gave her a weird look.   
  
It’s all she has left of him. This, the flower and the sketches. This and memories. So many bittersweet memories.  
  
The shuttle screeches and the thrusters whoosh. There’s a metallic clink and a shudder before the shuttle goes completely still. Another clink. A groan. The shuttle door hisses as it pressurizes.  
  
They’ve docked.

  
  



	9. Four Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Benny?” his standard issue comm crackles on his desk. It’s the unmistakable sound of his mother’s voice. The woman who crushed his dreams._
> 
> _He scowls looking down at the HoloPad, a picture of his beautiful soulmate, his Rey, smiling sleepily between the sheets in the Skywalker’s guest dome. Her long hair tangled and out of her buns, her tanned arms peeking out from the nest of clean white blankets on his bed. The ring snugly on her finger where her loose fist is hiding that bright smile bashfully._
> 
> _He runs his fingers over the screen, runs his thumb over the curve of her face biting back bitter tears and swallowing the knot in his throat._
> 
> _“You left me,” he whispers._
> 
> _“Benny? I know you’re there,” the comm crackles again._
> 
> _For fucks sake ma, not now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wait whaaat?
> 
> Ben wasn't supposed to get a word in for another 3 chapters. But it felt more natural to insert him here. It would also have broken the timeline if he'd have come in later, so here we are with a _few_ answers? There's still a lot to unpack and we still don't know what transpired, but at least we know he's hurting as much as Rey.
> 
> Send virtual hugs to H.O.M.E.

Ben’s standing at the arrivals window by gate YT-1300. It’s not that he’s nostalgic or misses his dad. Nor that he couldn’t look out the window elsewhere. The one in his quarters has a fantastic view out to space. If he stands close enough it makes him _feel_ like he’s floating among the stars. It’s just that this particular gate has the biggest window and is facing Earth. He needs to see it at least once a day to remind himself it was real. _She_ was real. That _she’s_ still there.  
  
He sees a shuttle approaching, coming from the direction of Coruscant and he scowls.   
  
Another wave of bright eyed cadets coming up to H.O.M.E in search of a brighter future only to mop the floors. The lucky ones, the _good_ ones will get to go places, but most will end up with meaningless duties around the station. He’s pretty sure sanitation is looking for fresh blood so there’s bound to be a few that’ll have their hopes crushed scrubbing piss stains off the urinals.  
  
If this one docks at YT-1300, they’ll be from his father.   
  
It doesn’t help that his father tells anecdotes about the station that almost always involve him, making him a bit of a legend to these bright eyed noobs. It makes getting around the station unnoticed a challenge. Especially right after they arrive. Once the veneer and novelty wears off, he’s safe to venture out again undisturbed. Until then, though, it’s a delicate dance of dodging their inquisitive smiles.  
  
He’s argued with his father about it many times. The old man still hasn’t gotten the message though. Han finds it hilarious to retell the story of when he’d run off to go pilot a ship (because he’d read a single flying module) only to destroy the locking mechanisms and cause millions of credits in damages. A funny story about how you should always obey the rules. If only his dad had known he’d been itching to get off the damn station his whole life. He was 10 for fucks sake. 10 years old and stuck on a cold metal space station with a color scheme of the grayscale and zero stimulation to keep him occupied.  
  
His parents were always busy running this thing or that, so he’d been left alone to his imagination and the HoloPad. He really shouldn’t have been blamed for wanting to go _anywhere_. Was it Naboo? Or Yavin V? He doesn’t remember which planet it was but it was something green he’d gotten lodged in his childish mind and decided to chase. Well, _tried_ to anyway.  
  
Ben scowls watching the shuttle. He’s not ready for another onslaught of questions, cadets hanging off him like he’s some kind of celebrity. He’s just _Ben_. The same Ben whose soulmate didn’t want him.   
  
His scowl grows deeper as he watches the shuttle _definitely_ approach YT-1300. _Fuck,_ he needs to get out of dodge before he gets caught or worse yet, Ackbar asks him to join the greeting committee.   
  
The shuttle seems to float like a tiny speck against the endless darkness of space, suspended between Earth (where he _needs_ to be) and H.O.M.E (where he’s _forced_ to be). He splays his hand across the cold thick window, feeling for any hint of the icy vacuum of space but feels none. The o-ring glistens against it, backlit by the harsh lighting in the hangar. He sighs deeply when his eyes catch it.  
  
How easy it would be to lock himself in an incinerator or expulsion shaft and press the button. Let himself burn or float out into space. Finish it already. Living without her is already like being dead. Knowing she doesn’t want him has all but decimated his soul. Every passing moment he’s felt a little more of his hope chisel away until he’d been worn down to nothing.  
  
How could she? How could she just turn her back on him? How could she not even give him the decency of at least a few final words? Tell him that he’s an idiot who wasn’t good enough for her. Tell him he’d been a fool to think he’d _ever_ deserve her.  
  
How could _he_ ever think he ever deserved _her_? Truth is, even then he knew he didn’t, just like he knows now. But at least then he’d had hope. He’d had her reassuring smile and her warm embrace, her soft lips and bright eyes. It made him feel like there _was_ hope in the universe. Hope for him to have a happy life.  
  
He presses his forehead to the glass and squeezes his eyes shut. Everytime he does this, visions of her beautiful hazel eyes assault him. They flood his senses and claw at his heart like a rabid beast. He can’t _not_ see her, though. She’s everywhere to him. Seasoned into every meal, written between the lines of each report, steeped in the water he drinks and injected in the air he breathes, filling the empty spaces in his body. Everytime he goes to sleep he imagines holding her. Every dream he has is _of_ her. Every morning he wakes up and _misses_ her. Every day he scowls at those he walks by wishing they _were_ her. Every day he sits in on the bare minimum meetings his mother’s assigned him and thinks of only her, not listening to whatever specification or debriefing he’s given. He never gives feedback. Never signs off on anything. He just fills a chair as per the senator’s orders. It’s how he gets back at her for not letting him go down. Sure she shits on him daily about neglect of duties, but she knows exactly what he wants in exchange for cooperation and she still won’t give in, so neither does he. He did, afterall, learn stubbornness from the very best.  
  
Every day he idly rubs at the mark on his finger and wishes he’d just get a chance to see her again. Even if she’s happy with someone else. Probably married now with beautiful children that have her bright eyes and dusting of freckles. He just wants one more look. Not even a touch just another look in the flesh.  
  
The visual of her with a happy family and a faceless man flickers across his closed lids so vividly he smashes his fist against the glass in jealousy. She should have been _his_ wife. Those should have been _his_ children. He didn’t even care if being with her meant being nothing but a farmer on Earth. As long as he was with her he was on the right path. Come what may, he’d be by her side till his last breath. Fuck politics. Fuck space travel. Fuck duty. He’d rather live half a life with her on Earth than live into three digits without her in space.  
  
There’s a metallic groan and he knows the shuttle is turning. Knows the docking engineers are working on extending the gangway. Knows he needs to peel himself off the window and leave before he’s forced to endure the ridiculous parade of new cadets oohing and aahing at the station.  
  
So he does. He pushes away from the glass. Pushes down the feelings of grief to thud his feet against the polished floor back to his quarters. Adopting his most menacing stride to ensure no conversation is attempted. Back to where he can keep to himself in peace until he’s forced to interact with people that aren’t Rey.  
  
He’d been hopeful for so long. The hours morphing into days. Days morphing into months. Months into years. He charged his HoloPad every night, keeping it close to his pillow in hopes she’d call. Carried it with him everywhere in case she’d reach out. Checked it incessantly just in case it failed to ring even if he never took it off the loudest setting.  
  
When a new model became available and it was time to scrap it, he’d refused, clearing all apps out of it and leaving only the pictures of them. He’d gotten the new one but kept this one for personal use. It became the only piece of her he had left. That and the ring he never removes. Not when his mother chastises him for being unavailable to women. Not when he bathes. Not when people ask him about his wife, when he mutters he’s not married and their eyes dart between his ring and face confused.   
  
She may not have chosen him, but he had no choice but to belong to her. If he’d be a lonely hermit, a dead-inside shell of himself, for the rest of his days, well, that was his prerogative. They can all go fuck themselves. They have _no_ idea what having a soulmate is like. No idea how complete she made him feel. How little anything else mattered when she was just _near_.  
  
Nothing would ever measure up to her. No one. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , replace her. Ever.   
  
_She replaced you_ , the treacherous voice in his head rumbles as he presses the access panel to his quarters.   
  
And it’s true. She did. Why else would she ignore him for so long?  
  
He’d never be able to do that to her. Not then. Not now. Not ever. Even if she seeks him out years from now when they’re old and grey, when her children are grown and her husband has passed, he’d still take her back. Because he loves her so _fucking_ deeply it’s more probable they’ll find the other end of a black hole before they’d find the depth of his love for her.  
  
It doesn’t make the pain easier to deal with. Doesn’t make every day he’d spent without her more tolerable. But he lives like a filter feeder. Just knowing she’s alive is enough to keep him breathing even if he doesn’t want to anymore.  
  
That’s what his uncle had said. That if one of them died the other would feel it. Feel the loss of half a soul. He’d told him that soulmates lived and died together. Told him he’d found one of old Dr. Kenobi’s journals in the archives. It was his way of reassuring Ben that she was, indeed still alive when he’d flipped a lid 8 years ago.  
  
He supposed that’s at least a positive. If he can’t have her in life at least when she shucks her mortal shell he’ll follow suit. He can at least join her then. It’s something.  
  
He throws himself back on his bed, resting his back against the headboard and looking out the window. Wondering what she’s doing right now. Wondering how the irrigation pipes are holding up and if her temperature regulator is still working. If she’s moved in with her husband or if they’d taken over her family farm. He wonders if Mr. Niima likes her husband better than him, or if her father compares the bastard to her soulmate. He hopes it’s the latter.  
  
His hand idly reaches for his HoloPad and he _knows_ it’s a bad idea. Knows nothing good is going to come from what he’s about to do, but he simply can’t help it. He can’t help it the way clouds can’t help forming, like his heart can’t stop beating.  
  
He slides over to the paired comm icon and presses it. It doesn’t even ring. The way it has every day he’s tried to contact her. Because it’s off or dead. Abandoned the way she’s abandoned him.  
  
With a shaky hand he does the next thing that happens when he’s holding the old HoloPad in privacy. He navigates to his photos and slides his fingers up.  
  
Sometimes just a few glimpses are enough to settle him. To make him feel at least somewhat connected to her. Today, he needs a full dose. He needs to start at the beginning and experience her entirely.  
  
He taps the very first picture he has.  
  
It’s her, standing in his uncle’s wheat field pointing out in the direction of her house smiling brightly. Nose and brows scrunched against the brightness of the sun. Her three buns messy and stray hairs blowing in the breeze he can practically feel.

  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

His mother had woken him up in the middle of the night with a knapsack, a duffle full of his clothes and his HoloPad. She’d whisked him away while he was still rubbing crud out of his eyes filling him in on the situation.  
  
Sheev Palpatine was planning an attack. She didn’t know how far he’d go so she needed to protect him. To ensure he wouldn’t get to her through Ben. She’d already arranged a safe place for him to hide out, informed him his alias was going to be Kylo Ren. When he asked why through a yawn, she’d explained it was a hybrid of Skywalker (his grandfather’s last name), Solo (his father’s last name) and a letter switch on his name, Ben. _Memorize it, use it, don’t slip whatever you do_. His story would be that he’s from Coruscant and he’s visiting his family to get some fresh air, get out of the city for the summer. _Don’t interact with anyone who isn’t family_.  
  
She’d ushered him into an unmarked shuttle and he was flown to Earth to meet his aunt, uncle and cousin for the first time. They were nice people. His uncle (technically great uncle) was an older man, around his mother’s age, with salt and pepper hair and a friendly countenance. His aunt (technically great aunt) Beru had a short side swept haircut, a serious mouth and high cheekbones. He quickly learned that she was actually much friendlier than she looked. Lastly he met his (second?) cousin Jacen, a gangly teen with short, closely cropped dark hair, and pretty much his mother’s face. Jacen doesn’t look like he’s a fan of Ben, but he doesn’t give a shit. Meeting new people is an adventure. The adventure he’s wanted to have since before he can remember.  
  
They’d stayed up for a bit getting their stories straight, Owen and Beru drilling the name _Kylo_ into their heads, Jacen warming up to him and offering to play video games, then they showed him to his guest dome. He’d been too exhausted to argue that the bed was too small or that the little dome was half his quarters at H.O.M.E. Instead, he fell asleep quickly and peacefully. The last thing he remembers is how fresh the air smelled on Earth. None of the metallic tang and lingering smoulder from a welding project halfway across the station.  
  
The next morning Jacen had woken him up saying they had a guest and he’d followed to meet the one who’d change his life forever.  
  
She was petite, malnourished even. But she looked strong. Her clothing was battered and dirty, dusty and covered in bug spatters. Her hair was tied into three messy buns behind her head with fine baby hairs hanging loosely everywhere. She had a little button nose painted with freckles and the sweetest hazel eyes he’d ever seen. And her smile, goofy and full of food as it may have been, could have powered H.O.M.E station it was so bright.  
  
He knew he loved her the minute their eyes met. Felt an inhuman pull towards this gorgeously dirty girl sitting at his aunt and uncle’s breakfast table. She was beautiful. Opinionated and passionate. When he insulted her she bit back. When he apologized she’d given him a chance. One he took every opportunity to repay. She’d sent a shock down his arm, forever searing herself into his life.  
  
Growing up on H.O.M.E he’d never seen anything like Earth. The air was fresh and the water cool, the sun was hot and there was so much colour. Insects and living things abound. Things she’d introduced him to happily.   
  
And then she’d grown to like his presence and it had made his love for her swell. He itched to touch her but refrained time and time again for fear she’d bite his finger off. She was so skinny and her family so poor he’d started bringing gifts like a lovesick puppy in a pathetic attempt to woo her. Sometimes it was things to keep her safe, like the armwraps or the waist pouch, other times it was food to nourish her. He’d started showing up with bad excuses just to see her and she’d welcomed him. Invited him to work alongside her, labour he wasn’t used to but he stifled all complaints and did everything she’d asked. He’d gotten sunburned and dehydrated. Blistered and callused. Every single wound became a battle mark he bore proudly because he did it for her.  
  
Then one day she’d shown him the creek and he’d been so excited to dive in, got so lost swimming underwater looking at all the living things floating in the current he hadn’t noticed her arms flailing for him. Not until he saw her struggle and he’d panicked in an effort to save her. That’s when he’d realized that the impossible happened - she _cared_ for him. He was so overwhelmed with gratitude he’d fought the urge to kiss her right then and there. He’d almost lost the battle when she’d given him the best gift he’d ever received in his life. She’d hugged him and told him they were _soulmates_.  
  
That day he did the only thing in his time on Earth that was right - he asked her to call him Ben. It was beautiful, the way his name sounded in her lilting voice, the way it sounded on her lips. If his entire time with her had been shrouded in secrecy this is the only real piece he needed her to have until he could tell her everything. He couldn’t bear being someone other than himself with her.   
  
She’d encouraged him to research the topic of soulmates. So he did. He delved so deep and dug so hard he had proverbial blood under his nails from scraping. Spending hours at night scrolling through article after article he didn’t really need to read because deep down inside he’d already known. Known from the moment their eyes met that he’d be hers forever.  
  
She’d started hugging him freely and he relished every touch, every sound and every brush of her fingers, wanting more but not daring. He tested kissing her head and she’d leaned into it, so he took the small mercy and showered her head and her temple, her wrists and feet, her shoulders and fingers with as many kisses he could muster. As many as she’d accept. Lips tingling long after they’d part for the night.   
  
And oh how painful it was to be separated from her. Only the paired HoloPad and comm tethering them to each other. It was torture. The kind he’d gladly endure knowing he’d get to see her again the next day.  
  
He’d started researching how to kiss like a fucking a depraved virgin, hell bent on making sure that when he did it, he’d blow her mind. That he’d make it so good he could wordlessly communicate everything he felt with his lips on hers. If he practiced with his pillow while scrolling through a how-to article, well, that was his shame to bear. That and the wet marks he’d have to sleep on. But he persevered, practicing every night for a week because he knew kissing her would be inevitable.  
  
Then his little miracle went and gave him another first. She’d taken him to see fireflies. It was the fourth most divine experience of his life. That night she’d gifted him his third and second as well. Kissing her and bonding. He’d snapped real-time snapshots of their first kiss. His first. From his _only_.  
  
Her kiss alone had stopped time. He was sure of it. Her pillowy lips, the way her lashes fluttered closed, the way he could count the freckles across the bridge of her nose from this close. It would have all been enough for him. But then they’d bonded and forging that connection was like soaring. She’d given him the gift of flight. All he had to do was interlace their fingers and he was weightless.  
  
There were things about the bond he didn’t think she knew and he never thought to tell her. Like that if you listen carefully it whispers the other’s thoughts into your mind when your marks are touching. Like if you press your bonded mark just right when you’re apart, it envelopes you in the other’s essence. Like the longer you were with them the clearer your future became.  
  
Overwhelmed with emotions he’d admitted his feelings to her that night. He’d been ready for her to laugh in his face. How ridiculous - the first girl he meets who smiles at him and he falls head over heels in love with her. But she didn’t. She’d kissed him harder. She’d told him she loved him too.   
  
That night had blown the door open for them. Gone were the restraints of uncertainty. Whatever came, they would face it together because they were soulmates and they were in love. He was hers and she was his and that was that.   
  
From then he told her he loved her every chance he got. Kissed her every available moment. He’d kept himself in check as much as possible, especially around family, but at times his control would waver. He’d fight tooth and nail to hold himself together by a thread before he could find the first moment of privacy to taste her lips. And how good they tasted. How plush and soft and warm.  
  
Their kisses grew hungrier. Bodies responding naturally in an ancient dance. He knew what it was, had seen plenty of porno but as much as he wanted to do that with her, he didn’t think he could just go to town on her like that. She was too precious. Too beautiful. Too special to him to treat like those men did. And it seems the HoloNet is full of rough sex.   
  
So at night again, after bidding her good night and telling her he loved her, he dug into his HoloPad with gusto researching how to do it _right_. He found some ‘softer’ porn and had to jerk off watching it because his dick didn’t seem to understand it was just research. He found a few how-tos so he practiced against the mattress. Thank God no one saw, they would have howled with laughter watching him hump the mattress awkwardly while checking the HoloPad and sliding his finger on the timerbar to rewind to a particular section of interest.   
  
He found another softer porno where the man spent a long time with his face between the woman’s legs and the noises she made had sealed his fate. He decided right then and there, watching that video that he’d do that to her. So he researched like a fiend and found out the act was called cunnilingus. He read article after article on how to make it good and what to expect. His pillow then became the victim of more practice sessions. This time, for a different kind of kissing.  
  
Then, one day when they were scavenging for parts in the desert they found themselves alone in an old RV vehicle thing (he still can’t describe what it was) and the opportunity arose. He’d just gotten off the adrenaline rush from the tornado scare above them when she’d all but admitted she _wanted_ to have sex with him.   
  
He’d followed her to the bed like a puppy on a leash, all his bravado and research having vaporized, leaving nothing but his raging erection and tunnel vision for her beautiful bare skin. He’d made a fool of himself in record time, orgasming within two of her soft strokes like the virgin he was. But she’d soothed him, told him she found it hot even. And so the opportunity to eat her out arose and that … _that_ had been a divine experience. Number 1.5 on his list. Tasting her, feeling her clench around his tongue, listening to the noises she made, making her writhe with just the tip of his tongue against her sensitive nub. When she came he felt reborn between her thighs.  
  
And then … then she let him in. Being inside her was the closest he’s ever been to touching the sky. Even now, living among the stars doesn’t compare to being inside her. The way she was so hot inside, the way she gripped him like he was everything and letting go was unimaginable. The way she mewled and moaned and met each thrust with her own because she _wanted_ him as much as he wanted her.   
  
That. _That_ is the best gift she’d given him. The most divine experience of his life. Not just their first but everytime after that. Being joined in every possible way. Body, mind, and soul. Holding her body, pressing their marks together, kissing her, _filling_ her, being _surrounded_ by her. That was heaven.  
  
If he closes his eyes he can still see every curve, every fold of flesh. Can still taste her. Can still hear her moans and the way she’d pleadingly say his name.   
  
He can remember every single moment they’d had each other. Remember every detail and every nuance like it was yesterday. The way the sun would warm her breasts and her hair would sprawl across the rickety dock. The way she would squeak when he’d knead the flesh of her ass when she’d ride him in the shed with the smell of packed earth and rusted parts in his nose. The way her hair would tickle his shoulders there. The way his absolute favourite had been in a bed, worshipping her between soft sheets and plush pillows, things that were almost as soft as she was.  
  
He’d been so head over heels by the time they’d visited the outpost that the moment his eyes fell on the decorative o-rings he knew that was it. That those rings were exactly what would bind his promise to her. Show her just how serious he was. If he couldn’t tell her the whole truth just yet, this was his way of making sure she knew unequivocally that he was hers.  
  
He knew she’d sent him off to bargain because he’d probably ruin the purchase at the repair shop, but what she didn’t know was that it was the opportunity he needed to go buy the rings. He’d sprinted at top speed back to the stall and talked to the vendor, a young man named Kandar Varak.  
  
Kandar explained that he was a welder and he liked to turn leftover engineering parts into jewelry. A bit of a waste, Ben thought to himself, well aware that was Rey’s frugal voice inside him talking. These spare parts could easily be cleaned up and put to good use at some of the more unfortunate farms in the area.   
  
He’d explained that the graphene o-rings were sealing gaskets to help pressurize coils. They were indestructible, beautiful, and used to seal two parts together. They were the perfect metaphor. So when the young man gave him the price of 20 credits each he’d _almost_ paid it, giddy with excitement over the acquisition. Then he’d remembered Rey’s words, sized up the man and offered him 10 a piece. He’d countered with 15 and Ben offered 14 which the man accepted. He tried on the sizes until he found his, then, knowing the exact circumference of Rey’s fingers from every moment they’d intertwined their fingers found hers.  
  
He’d spent another 2 credits on a chain just in case she was too embarrassed to wear the ring in front of her family yet. Sure, he might be head over heels in love with her but she still had duties to fulfill. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. They still had a lot to talk about.  
  
He’d wanted to wait for the perfect moment to give her the ring, had practiced the words he’d say incessantly in his head. He’d wanted to do it by the creek, get on one knee when the sun was high and the camomile filled the air with its sweet scent. Except he’d been overwhelmed with his love for her only a few days later and bumbled his way through a poor approximation of his speech while he poured the rings into her open palm in the middle of her father’s cornfield under a light rain.  
  
She’d stared at him with an expression of utter shock and he’d known he’d made a mistake. Had pushed her too far too fast. He could see his whole world crumbling under his feet and there was nothing he could do to stop it and … she pounced on him and kissed him silly. Pushed the ring on his finger and chanted _yes, Ben, yes, I love you_.  
  
And his heart burst with joy…

  
  
  
  


“Benny?” his standard issue comm crackles on his desk. It’s the unmistakable sound of his mother’s voice. The woman who crushed his dreams.   
  
He frowns looking down at the HoloPad, a picture of his beautiful soulmate, his Rey, smiling sleepily between the sheets in the Skywalker’s guest dome. Her long hair tangled and out of her buns, her tanned arms peeking out from the nest of clean white blankets on his bed. The ring snugly on her finger where her loose fist is hiding that bright smile bashfully.  
  
He runs his fingers over the screen, runs his thumb over the curve of her face biting back bitter tears and swallowing the knot in his throat.  
  
“You left me,” he whispers.  
  
“Benny? I know you’re there,” the comm crackles again.  
  
For fucks sake ma, _not now_.  
  
“I need to see you in my office,” she adds, like that’ll convince him to answer.  
  
Ben signs, from the depths of his soul. A sigh meant to expel all the disappointment and heartache he lives with every day. Some days it's barely tolerable. Others, it’s debilitating. He closes the HoloPad and tucks it under his arm. If he leaves his quarters he’ll have it with him just in case she calls. It’s been 8 years but he hasn’t lost hope, even if he’s all but sure there isn’t any hope left.  
  
“Why,” he picks up the comm to respond. He’s irritated. Annoyed with the interruption. That he’s being summoned for something she hasn’t put into his schedule. Those unscheduled moments he uses exclusively to think of _her_ and this is biting into Rey’s time.  
  
“I have an assignment for you and it’s best we talk it out in person.”  
  
This has _got_ to be a bad fucking joke. He’s told his mother time and time again he’s _not_ leaving the station unless it’s to go back down to Earth. So unless this assignment is _about_ going down there, she can kindly shove it where the sun don’t shine. He _has_ to stay here in case she comes up. _Has_ to stay here to wait for the opportunity to go see her. If H.O.M.E is the closest he’ll get, that’s fine but he won’t venture further, only closer.   
  
“No.”  
  
“Benny,” his mother sighs, “I’m afraid it’s non-negotiable, but let’s talk about it okay? I think you’ll like this one.”  
  
“No.”  
  
There’s another sigh on his mother’s end before she takes on her political tone, “If you’re not here in 15 minutes I’ll have your old HoloPad confiscated and repurposed."  
  
 _You wouldn’t_.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
He knows it’s the worst time to travel through the halls of the station. Knows his father’s just sent a new batch of cadets (agents they’re called now) that are swarming the halls like fucking tourists. If his father has told them any anecdotes about him, they’ll recognize him and he’ll get swarmed.  
  
So Ben is going to take the long route. He’s going to swing through engineering, then through the offices of the MedBay. It’ll take him longer than 15 minutes but his mother can suffer for a few more minutes. Repayment for that unnecessary threat.   
  
He braces himself in front of his door, glancing down to his ancient blacked out HoloPad and taking a deep breath.  
  
“I miss you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to it, rubbing the inside of his middle finger just to feel pressure against where her finger should be. Against his soulmate mark. The symbol of infinity.  
  
An infinity he’ll never have.  
  
In one swift motion he opens the door to his quarters and veers towards engineering with swift, menacing steps. Eyes glued to the ring on his finger like it’s the map to where he’s going.  
  
What he hadn’t known when he’d bought that ring, was that the jeweller had ties to an unsavoury character. Someone who’d put a price on Ben’s head. One Kandar was quick to call in, thus starting the countdown to the end of his time on Earth. But he wouldn’t know that until much later. When it was too late.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inserting a fun fact here: YT-1300 is the model number of the Millennium Falcon ;-)


	10. Pi Epsilon Gamma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What on Earth happened to you?” her father’s face is contorted in equal parts amusement, annoyance and confusion._
> 
> _They’re standing side by side in the doorway covered in mud, hair in tangles and utterly drenched. Cheeks pink with embarrassment and hands clasped behind their backs like children being scolded. Well that and to hide their promise rings._
> 
> _“I fell on the way back, it got slippery,” Ben blurts out._
> 
> _“I-I tried to stop him,” Rey adds sheepishly._
> 
> _“She didn’t stand a chance,” Ben quips, elbowing her arm playfully._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Almost_ there!!
> 
> We'll get a few more answers in the next chapter. The one after is going to bring a _lot_ more clarity.

Her heart is racing despite the calming drugs still lingering in her system. She can hear her helmet hissing, replacing the medicated air with fresh oxygen to clear out the anti-nausea mix. Sees the meclizine percentage dropping across her visor.  
  
How unfortunate, it was nice to get a reprieve from the pain she carries around.  
  
Her GxSuit is vibrating against her skin again. Now that the flight is over, it’s ready for her to spring into action again. Just beyond the shuttle door she can hear scrambling engineers working to release the lock. To open the doorway to another life for her and her fellow cadets.   
  
She should have become an engineer for the station. She’s always been better at repairing things. Better at working within the circuitry and components of machines. But for that you need a degree and there was no money for that. The academy required a small down payment and enlistment. It was a much easier route and she had enough sadness to convert to anger, which further fuel her fight.  
  
There’s the soft whirr of the cockpit door opening and the two pilots file out laughing heartily. The handsome pilot, _Poe Dameron_ , with the mop of curly black hair and that chiselled jaw is the first to appear. He does have a nice smile, just as she’d assumed. The way his eyes light up laughing with his co-pilot is sweet. Not earth-shattering like Ben, but sweet nonetheless.  
  
The co-pilot, **Temmin Wexley** the visor prompts, pats him on the shoulder as the two wait at the shuttle’s door.  
  
“Did he really pay you that much?”  
  
“Yeah man. I fly out there to deliver whatever he’s acquired to that plot of land of his. It’s a great way to make extra credits on my time off.”  
  
The co-pilot shakes his head, “any way I can get in on it?”  
  
“No way. Solo’s credits are mine. Besides, it’s a long haul flight and the cargo is weird. Homely stuff like farm equipment and shit.”  
  
“Oh come on Poe, you know Jess and I wanna start a family, some extra income would help us.”  
  
The pilot beams back at his co-pilot which makes his face look equal parts angelic and sly, then raises a brow. “Why do you think I do it? Kay and I have been talking about relocating there. This gives me a chance to scout out a place _and_ get paid for it.”  
  
He looks over to the cadets, shrugs once then continues, “tell you what, if you can make it through _one_ dinner with him, I’ll cut you in.”  
  
“What do you reckon he’s-”  
  
The main shuttle door hisses, releasing a white vapor around the edges before groaning open. The ramp extends beyond her field of vision and the two pilots make their way down, continuing their conversation without so much as batting an eye. Like the gateway to another world didn’t just magically open.  
  
“..-stockpiling for?” The co-pilot asks. Her helmet tuning in to the remnants of their conversation as they walk further and further away. Walking away from the shuttle like it’s just another mundane day.  
  
“No idea. Maybe he’s found himself a potential wife and is getting ready to settle. Maybe he’s finally ready to sequester himself and _really_ be a hermit. I don’t give a shit as long as I get paid.”  
  
They must have turned a corner because one second she can hear them guffaw, the next there’s nothing but silence and her own panting breaths.  
  
Rey sits quietly with the rest of the cadets. For minutes? Hours? It feels like eternity with the way the nanobots in her suit vibrate against her skin. The way it fights against inertia.  
  
An older man with cloudy white hair, a pronounced widows peak and bulging eyes walks in, appraising the cadets. He’s wearing light grey pants, light grey boots, and a light grey long sleeved tunic with black and red stripes, the outfit of a high ranking official at the station. The visor flashes for a split second before offering **Admiral Ackbar** .  
  
Her heart rate picks up another notch, her hands feel clammy but the suit is wicking her sweat away. She’s acutely aware that she’s broken out in a cold sweat and might be trembling. Because this is it, isn’t it? This man is her gateway into H.O.M.E and once she passes him she’s free of her ties to Earth. If she screws up here she might get sent back and she’s already been given a pass by General Solo. Surely the universe isn’t kind enough to offer her a second.  
  
“Leaders, with me,” the Admiral turns on his heel and marches out, leaving the cadets to follow suit. His delivery is clinical and cold, she thinks. None of the cadets have even been here. None know what to do or even where they are. Most are from backwater communities on Earth and have never even been to space. But that’s what all their years of training has prepared them for, to follow their superior’s lead unquestioningly.  
  
She doesn’t think, just lets her body follow the protocol she’s had drilled into her every day for the last 3 years. Standing up, collecting her pack, she slings it over her shoulders and marches on wobbly legs behind the other squadron leaders. Feet thudding down the ramp to stand in a perfectly formed line before the admiral.  
  
They salute him silently. Formally. In perfect unison.  
  
“At ease,” the Admiral nods appreciatively then smiles more kindly, “Solo sent good ones this time I see.”  
  
The Admiral walks before each of them, appraising, judging, but smiling all the while. She doesn’t know what he’s looking for, what he’s assessing. Probably their stance if she were to venture a guess. Or maybe the cleanliness of their GxSuits? What she does know is that he strikes her as content. Proud even.  
  
“Welcome H.O.M.E.” he gestures up and over his head indifferently. Rey lets her eyes wander past his hand, up to see the height of the ceiling towering above her head, around to take in the expanse of monochromatic steel, the vastness of the hangar and its harsh lights. The polished black floors and the bright white hallway beyond the hangar door that leads into the heart of the station. She can’t see more without turning her head and that simply won’t happen. Not in front of a superior this far above her station.   
  
It’s sad, she thinks, that she can’t appreciate the grandeur of the station the way she would have if she’d arrived under different circumstances. Maybe in another life she would have arrived as a traveller with Kylo headed to Naboo.  
  
 _Fucking brain, stop it_! She squeezes her eyes shut to stop the memories from forming. Willing them to remain on the outskirts of her conscience until she’s alone. _Only a little while longer_.  
  
Behind Admiral Ackbar, 12 uniformed officers wearing pristine black approach. Each with a large crate in tow, lining up expertly in a mirror image of her line. The Admiral is walking between them like he’s toeing the line between old and new.  
  
“These are your guides,” he gestures towards the officers opposite to her, “each has been assigned a squadron. Inside the crates we’ve provided new standard issue uniforms and HoloPads. The uniforms are to be worn when you’re not in your suits. You will return your old pads to your guide to be wiped and returned to Earth. Each HoloPad is equipped with a full map of the station, your new code names, full access to the HoloNet and a communications app.”  
  
He turns on his heel at the end of the row and begins to walk in the opposite direction between her line and that of the guides as he continues delivering his message.  
  
“Once your uniform and HoloPads are assigned, your guides will bring you to your quarters. You will be responsible for getting your teams there in tandem with your guide. After that, we allot you free time to explore the station for the remainder of the evening.”  
  
He stops at the end of the row again, saluting stiffly before adding, “You’re expected at the AM-12 hall at 0600 for missions and breakfast. Once again, welcome H.O.M.E.”  
  
With that he turns and walks out of the hangar leaving the two rows to stare each other down.  
  
“Blue squadron,” the furthest guide on the left calls out, startling her.  
  
“Red squadron,” the one next to him shouts.  
  
“Green squadron,” so it goes down the line.  
  
“Gold squadron,” she cranes her head to find the man who called her colour. A man of about her height with a full head of brown hair flopping into his eyes, a stern mouth and a goatee. She nods at him once in acknowledgement and marches over to the shuttle ramp to wait her turn to collect her charges.  
  
One by one the previous teams stream out of the shuttle. One by one she watches the cadets exit the craft, helmets rotating to marvel at the hangar. Beside the shuttle she sees a large floor to ceiling window. Outside Earth is visible so clearly she fights to hold back tears. Fights to stop herself from walking over to it and pressing her hand against the glass.  
  
That tiny blue and white marble. That’s where she had loved and lost. That’s where she left her heart and her soul. That’s what she’s walking away from.  
  
She wonders if he’s seen this window. If he’s seen this view of Earth. If he’d even given it a moment’s thought, sighting the old dustball. Maybe inclining his head to whisper goodbye to her when he left for the colonies with his pretty wife. Or maybe he just ignored the view completely, enraptured with the woman on his arm as they made their way to Naboo. _Their_ Naboo. Not hers. Not anymore.  
  
A shaky breath escapes her as the squadron before hers files out. The suit nudges her into action and she climbs back in to collect her team quietly. Hoping the voice modulator will muffle out any hint of pain she’s just subjected herself to. Muffle the tightness in her throat and mask the warble in her voice.  
  
She doesn’t know how it happens. How she manages to give the command keeping a steady tone, how she keeps herself straight and her pace even. How she gets everyone back to their guide whose name tag reads _Cassian Andor_. Her visor displays nothing. He’s clearly not important enough to have been placed in her helmet’s databank? Or…  
  
“If your helmet tells you nothing about me, it’s because when you plug it in this evening the data will be updated. It’s still in academy mode but after tonight it’ll be fully synced into the imperial system.”  
  
He takes a break and fishes inside the crate, pulling out a folded set of clothes with a HoloPad on top. The neat little pile of belongings they’ll each get. She wants to scoff but suppresses the urge. Comforts in the imperial system seem to be comprised of the bare minimum. A few changes of clothes in their rank colours and a single communication device.  
  
“My name is Cassian Andor. I’m part of the H.O.M.E quadrant intelligence team and I volunteered to be your guide today.”  
  
He holds the neat little pile out and reads the note on the holopad. CT-7567 team leader. Rey nods stepping forward and he hands her the pile.  
  
Together they dole out the little bundles to the rest of her team until the crate is empty. Each of her team reaches forward to collect their dues before stepping back into a straight line.  
  
“At ease guys, you’re off the clock now,” their guide laughs. Like they haven’t had all informalities drilled out of their system for the last 3 years.  
  
Andor leads them through the open hangar door into the bright white hallway, leaving the engineers to deal with the empty crates, leading his ducklings into the station. Rey takes one last look over her shoulder. One last look at Earth, saying a silent _goodbye_ in her mind’s eye to the planet she was born on. The planet she was loved on. The planet where everything was taken away from her. Wishing silently that he hears her and that her heart can let go of just a fraction of the pain.

  
  


…

  
  


The walk is long. Made longer by Finn’s incessant need to stop and ogle this room or that. Something Andor seems to encourage, answering questions happily. She almost laughs when Finn asks ' _what’s this one'_ , pointing to an open door leading into a room filled with white piping and pristine lockers. ' _Sanitation sterilization ... be careful what you wish for, I hear they’re looking for fresh blood,'_ Andor had said in jest but a few of her cadets laughed uncomfortably.   
  
It’s hard to walk through these massive halls. Hard to hear their boots clicking unevenly when she’s become so used to the rhythmic sounds of perfectly timed steps. Hard to see people. Not just uniformed officers but civilians - women, elderly couples, _children_. Laughing and running, holding hands and carrying bags, carrying cups of caf and gossiping. It’s a complete 180 from the academy she’d immersed herself into for the last 3 years of her life.  
  
Every corner they turn, every level they ascend via turbolift opens the world inside the station a little wider. Makes her feel a little smaller. Every step they take away from the shuttle makes her feel more and more like an insignificant grain of sand in a vast desert. Just another body. A nobody.  
  
How small her life has been in the grand scheme of things. Just a tiny cog in the wheel of time. A single bolt in the grand machine of humanity. And yet, there was one person the universe deemed to gift her that made it all seem special. Like they were their own little machine powered only by the force of their unity.   
  
_Keep it together Rey,_ _we’re almost there_.  
  
Intuition tells her they’re close. The crowds have thinned, there are fewer people and the ones that do skitter across their path wear the same standard uniforms they’re holding. The level they’ve reached is narrower, more intimate. Like they’re living quarters, not the grand halls of the station proper.  
  
Andor halts in the depths of a corridor after taking too many turns to count. Enough that she’s relying on her helmet to have mapped it out for when she needs to get out. He points down a narrower hall with 6 doors off the long corridor they’re standing in. Everything is stark white, made all the whiter by the harsh lighting. It’s empty and devoid of life other than themselves. There’s no art, no sculptures or decorations. Just a sterile white corridor with smaller arched doorways leading into hundreds of halls just like the one Andor is pointing at. Like an infinite dreamscape of milky white and angular lines.  
  
“Gold squadron, your quarters. Don’t forget, Agent Mess 12 at 0600. Hope you settle in well. It’s been a pleasure guiding you through H.O.M.E.”  
  
With that he takes off through the labyrinth of halls and Rey is left flabbergasted as to what to do next. Her team shuffles uncomfortably behind her.  
  
“Right,” she gestures her team into the hall, hoping on hope it’ll be exactly like the quarters at the academy. Each of her team members bumble over to a door. Each of their helmets wanders to look at the others for any clue as to what to do.   
  
Rey takes the last door, the one at the very end of the short hall. There’s a pad there and she gulps staring at it. She taps the screen and it lights up with a request for identification. She punches in CT-7567 and the light goes green, door sliding open silently. _Just like at the academy_.  
  
The others take their cue from her but she doesn’t notice anymore. This is her new life. A cubicle. A tiny space that’s all of 100 square feet with a twin bed against one wall, a desk and chair, a locker and a refresher that takes up half the quarters. The entire space, like the hallway, is stark white and completely sterile down to the over starched sheets. It could be worse, she thinks. At least she’s got a small porthole window looking out to space beside the bed.  
  
She lets herself in, dropping her backpack on the chair and releasing a shaky breath as the door whirrs shut behind her.  
  
 _Finally alone_.

  
  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

Somehow they went from kissing each other senseless to her being pinned beneath him with her nipple in his mouth and her fist wrapped tightly around the length of him. _Somehow_. Not that she’s surprised. That’s been their modus operandi for weeks now yet it never fails to surprise her when things inevitably escalate to a state like the present.  
  
Her back is pressed into the wet earth, light rain drops falling onto her face. The arm that’s currently not stroking him is tangled in his hair pulling him closer. She chances a glimpse down to see the shiny graphene ring on her finger peeking from between his raven locks and can’t help but smile.   
  
Smile at seeing his matching one pawing at her other clothed breast. Smile when she sees that hand trail down her body to slip beneath the waistband of her pants, beneath her underwear to make full contact with her heated core. Tilt her head back when his fingers slide between her folds to collect the moisture there and slide back up to rub sloppy circles over her nub.  
  
Her grip around him tightens in an effort to make him feel as good as he’s making her feel right now. He grunts around her nipple, nibbling the hardened peak gently between his teeth as he bucks into her hand. She wishes they were at the shed right now so they could alleviate this itch, not rolling around between rows of corn. Or maybe her bedroom. A bed would be a nice change of scenery.  
  
The comm crackles in her waist pouch. The one that’s currently wedged between their bodies.  
  
Her father’s muffled voice comes through, “Rey? Kylo? Are you finished checking the pipes?”  
  
They both freeze on the spot, like they’ve been caught red handed. Like a rabbit freezing at an unfamiliar sound until it deems that danger has passed.  
  
“I need you to come home immediately. We need to talk to you. Rey?”  
  
“Your parents…” he flicks his tongue across her nipple at hyperspeed before releasing her with a pop, “I love them to death but they have _terrible_ timing.”   
  
She can’t help but laugh at how utterly debauched he is. Hair all mussed and damp, he’s got dirt and mud smeared on his clothes and face. His lips are bright red and kiss stung and mouth hanging agape to groan with each stroke she gives him.  
  
“I suppose this means we ought to hurry?” she jests, bucking her hips into his busy hand.   
  
“Can’t I take my time making my wife…”  
  
“ _Future_ wife,” she interjects.  
  
“Semantics sweetheart. The point is … mmpf … I’d like to take my time making my _future_ wife come.”  
  
“Then let me see what you’ve go- _aah!_ ”  
  
He’s pinched her freed nipple and pushed two fingers inside in one fell swoop, thumb honing in on her nub. A rhythmic pace of flicking and pumping that’s whiting out her vision in the best of ways. With his free hand, he fumbles around her waist, unzipping the pouch and fishing for her comm.  
  
“W-what are you doing?” she gasps.  
  
He brings the comm to his lips in a _shhhh_ motion then clicks the receiver, “we’re coming,” he says with a sly smirk, pushing his hips forward to thrust into her fist. _This naughty boy_.  
  
“Fuck, baby,” he grinds through gritted teeth, “I wanted to come in here.” As if to accentuate his point he crooks his fingers up to pull forward in a come-hither motion sending sparks up her spine. In her frenzy she grips him a little tighter, tugs a little harder, which in return makes him buck a little more wildly.  
  
When did this happen? Rey is a simple girl who needs the bare minimum in life to be happy. Her father _raised_ her to thrive on the simple things, to survive on a 3 ingredient stew: A decent meal, a roof over her head, fulfilling work. When did she start craving these carnal pleasures? Was it always in her? Or is it Ben? Is this what families are made of? Is this the starting point? The very edge of the field she’s sowing her life onto?   
  
She tries to sit up, to prop herself up on her free hand to look at Ben. To get her bearings if only just to remind herself this is real. It’s not a figment of the imagination, knowing that you can be _so_ much happier with just an extra little ingredient in her already perfect life stew. The secret ingredient for adding the silver lining.  
  
The plan goes awry, of course. It’s been raining since he’d given her the rings. Even though it’s only a light patter, it’s steady enough to have turned the soil beneath them clumpy and muddy. The rain hits her eyes and makes her squint and blink unevenly. Probably not the most enticing she’s ever looked but before she has a chance to think it through her hand slides from under her in a wet squelch, grasping for his shirt and pulling him down with her.   
  
She’s not sure which one of them starts first, only that in the blink of an eye they’ve started laughing. One of each of their hands wrapped up in the other as they roll around in mud, howling.  
  
They lay there panting and snickering, hands releasing each other, rolling onto their backs side by side to stifle the intense laughing fit they’ve both been overcome with. He with his pant fly open and his dick resting against his stomach and she with her nipple on full display. Rain pelting down on them and mud moulding against their backs.  
  
Roaring laughter ebbs into quiet chuckles then into bursts of light giggles, tapering off into soft sighs.  
  
Ben turns in the mud, propping himself up on his elbow, tracing the bridge of her nose with one of his dirty fingers. “We should go,” he murmurs quietly, a soft smile still playing on his face, highlighting his dimples.  
  
“W-what about … y’know,” she motions down at the stiff problem between them.  
  
“It’ll go down. Don’t worry.”  
  
 _Pffft_ , like she’s going to let her soulmate walk around like _that_.  
  
“Just,” she pushes him on his back roughly and scoots down his body, “gimme a minute okay?”  
  
He doesn’t say anything. She thinks he’s about to protest but he falls silent the moment her lips wrap his length.

  
  


…

  
  


“What on Earth happened to you?” her father’s face is contorted in equal parts amusement, annoyance and confusion.  
  
They’re standing side by side in the doorway covered in mud, hair in tangles and utterly drenched. Cheeks pink with embarrassment and hands clasped behind their backs like children being scolded. Well that and to hide their promise rings.  
  
“I fell on the way back, it got slippery,” Ben blurts out.  
  
“I-I tried to stop him,” Rey adds sheepishly.  
  
“She didn’t stand a chance,” Ben quips, elbowing her arm playfully.  
  
Her father eyes them carefully before bursting out in hearty laughter. “You two look like swine straight out of the pig pen.”  
  
Rey titters nervously, mostly because she’s both relieved her father bought the blatant lie and because she’s never seen either a pig or a pig pen.   
  
Beside her father, her mother looks worried. A deep frown wrinkling her face and her brows furrowed. Her eyes are red, bloodshot and now that she’s taken a moment to really look at her mother, there’s little trails down her cheeks.  
  
“What’s wrong mama?”  
  
Her father clears his throat, straightening out. “Your grandmother isn’t feeling well. We need to go help care for her.”  
  
The news settles like a dark cloud around her. _Nana_? Her maternal grandmother, the blessed sweet woman who would bring her corn syrup candies and read her stories. Nana with the shiny silver hair and thick spectacles that used to braid her hair and gave her the three bun hairstyle she wears every day.  
  
“She’s okay honey, just needs lots of rest and care. Your mother and I are leaving now. We need you to stay and tend to the farm.”  
  
Ben, her wonderful, brave soulmate pipes in, worry lacing his voice, “anything I can do Mr. Niima?”  
  
“Actually, Kylo,” her father starts as he picks up a small suitcase, their _only_ suitcase, “I’ve asked Owen to help and he suggested you might stay and keep Rey company? Help around the farm in our absence? You don’t have to of course…”  
  
“It would be an honour sir,” Ben interjects.  
  
“Good. Good. You both know how to run the farm. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen, Owen has agreed to run any errands should we take longer than a few days.”  
  
“I-is nana going to be okay?” she couldn’t help but stutter, the warble in her voice and her eyes glassy on the brink of tears.  
  
“Of course honey,” her father tried to sound chipper but she could see on her mother’s face it was more dire than he was making it out to be. “She just needs bed rest and someone to feed her, take care of the house, you know how it is. She’ll be right as rain in no time. Especially with your mother’s special soup.”  
  
Her mother smiles at that, it’s a small, tight lipped smile. “Of course. We’ll comm you every night sweetie,” her mother adds, wiping a palm across her cheek to wipe away the trails her tears left.  
  
Ben’s hand wraps around her waist to squeeze lightly. Like her parents _aren’t_ in the room right now. Like her nana isn’t ill. Like the only thing he wants to do is make sure _she’s_ okay in the moment.  
  
“I’ll take care of the little one,” he vows solemnly, then, “need help with the suitcase?”  
  
Her father is already hauling it like it weighs nothing. And it probably doesn’t. They don’t own much. Rey’s best guess is that the suitcase is filled with a few changes of clothes and medicinal herbs her mother stockpiles.   
  
He pats Ben on the shoulder as he walks past them, “you take care of her, Kylo. I trust you.” He then turns to Rey giving her a watery smile, “we’ll comm when we get there okay honey? Hold the fort while we’re gone.”  
  
With that, her parents slipped out of the house and into the landspeeder, leaving them standing dubstruck. Still rain soaked and covered in mud.

  
  


…

  
  


Two weeks. Her parents were gone for two weeks.  
  
They commed every morning and every evening to check in on how Rey and Ben were doing. Rey spoke to her nana who seemed in good spirits, imparting all her love through the tiny comm.  
  
Two weeks they’d spent in domestic bliss.  
  
The first night he’d comforted her. Ran them a bath, curled around her protectively while she cried about her grandmother and he scrubbed the mud out of her hair. He made them a rudimentary version of grits and snuggled her more on the sofa, feeding her spoonfuls from behind until she found peace of mind when her parents arrived. She’d asked to speak to her grandmother who assured her she just had a little cough. With relief came exhaustion, so Ben carried her to bed and nestled behind her. That was the first blissful night of sleeping with his warm body curled around her.  
  
The next morning they baked fresh cornbread together and while the fruits of their labour rose in the oven, he’d told her he had a hankering for something sweet. Which is how she found herself splayed across the kitchen table with his face buried between her legs until she saw stars.  
  
Later that morning Owen and Jacen came with a change of clothes for Ben and some sustenance. A canister of caf, a bag of flour, two yams, a pack of protein substitute and a small quart of blueberries.   
  
They served their guests caf but couldn’t quite keep from blushing furiously as their guests leaned their elbows on the table they’d just debauched. From then on they’d formed an unspoken rule that they’d keep their adult activities confined to the bedroom and bathroom.  
  
And oh, there were many. Some nights it was slow and tender. Others it was hard and fast. Some nights he’d whisper sweet things, other nights he’d whisper filthy things. There was always a little something in the morning and sometimes a little something in the shower. Every night they’d go to sleep with a kiss murmuring ‘ _I love you sweetheart,’_ and _‘I love you Ben’_.  
  
One night, when their bodies were sated and tangled between her sheets, he’d gripped her tightly and rasped “baby, this is torture” into her hair.  
  
“How come,” she’d asked confused, her ear fitted snugly against his chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat and her fingers running idle circles over his clavicle.  
  
“Because,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, “now that I know what it’s like to have you in my arms at night, I don’t know how I’ll ever sleep without you.”  
  
She kissed him then, promising they’d figure it out while their fingers entwined above their heads, marvelling at their good fortune in having each other and how well their hands fit together. How easily their fingers slotted between the other’s. Rings gleaming against the glow of H.O.M.E light in the night sky. That night, she fell asleep the happiest she’d ever been.  
  
For two weeks they tend the house and the fields, play, joke, bathe, eat, sleep, make love, clean, and enact a version of the future they’ll one day live. It’s not in the moments they talk so much as in the quiet ones that their future is clearest.   
  
Moments where they’re waiting for the cornbread to cool down and sit on the porch with a cup of caf. Moments where he’s laid a log in the fireplace and he snuggles her into his chest while she sketches and he reads lesson modules on his HoloPad. Moments where his hand splays across her belly and he nuzzles into her neck before they fall asleep. These simple, quiet moments where their future stretches endlessly before them. Promises of more. Promises of a life built around a comfortable routine. A life filled with love.

It makes her feel invincible.  
  
She’s so consumed by this mirror image of their future that when her parents don’t comm for two days, she thinks nothing of it. Thinks they’re busy tending to her grandmother and taking care of her errands.  
  
When they show up on the third day with a crate in tow, their faces somber, she assumes her grandmother had given them furniture she has no use for. She waves happily at the old landspeeder coming down the dirt road, sitting on the porch with Ben holding their mugs of caf.   
  
It’s only when she notices that it’s not a crate in tow but a coffin that she stands up letting the mug clatter on the ancient wood, tears springing unbidden.  
  
That day passes in a blur. Somehow she’d ended up laying on the porch. The next thing she remembers is Ben carrying her to bed. Then there’s Ben’s face over hers, brushing her hair gently out of her face holding a cup of water.  
  
It feels like she’s only closed her eyes a moment but she finds herself standing in front of a coffin lowered 6 feet into the ground behind the old oak tree and her mother’s herb garden. Ben holds her tightly while her mother cries into Beru’s shoulder, Jacen and her father stare at the lowered box, and Owen reads the last rites. Each of them throw a handful of dirt onto the simple wooden casket bidding her nana a safe journey. The men gather shovels and begin covering her grandmother’s remains while the women hold hands. Hold back tears and try to be brave, mixing their love into the soil covering her grandmother.  
  
As they all stand there, in front of the rudimentary wooden cross with the sun setting behind their backs, Ben’s comforting arms wrap around her waist from behind and he kisses the top of her head unashamed.   
  
Nobody bats an eye.

  
  
  
  
  
  


She’s managed to shuck her helmet off, placing it on the linkpad on her desk. She knows it’s uploading new data but that’s not where her mind is.  
  
In her hands she’s cradling her sketchpad. The page in front of her open to an intricate sketch of intertwined fingers and filigree graphene rings. His fingers an exact replica of the real Ben. Blunt, dirty fingernails, digits thick and plump. She can almost feel his thumb ghosting over hers looking at the sketch.  
  
On the opposite page is a sketch of his wild and unruly mop of hair covering his sleeping face. Arm tucked under his cheek and lips parted slightly. She remembers every beauty mark. Every dip and curve of his face. Her index finger idly traces the curve of his cheek and she can practically feel the warmth of his skin, the softness of it under her fingers.  
  
She can feel tears pooling, hot and blurry. Can feel them crumble under their collective weight and paint a hot path down her cheek. Can see one drip onto the sketch of his beautiful sleeping form.  
  
Her heart clenches.  
  
 _No! Enough!  
  
_ She slams the sketchbook shut. _Enough_. She screams at herself mentally through shaking breaths. It’s time to let him go already. It’s time to put an end to this. She’s here now. She’s H.O.M.E. Tomorrow she’ll get a new mission. Today she needs to go to the MedBay and get this taken care of.  
  
With a newfound resolve she peels her armour off until she’s in her standard issue underthings. She collects her new black uniform and trudges into the refresher. _Not_ thinking about Ben. _Not_ remembering what it was like to share a showerhead with his large body. _Not_ wishing he was here to envelope her in his arms while she washes the stench of graphene and travel off her body.  
  
She dons her new uniform, braids her hair the way her mother used to and picks up her new HoloPad, navigating to the profile icon.  
  
 **CT-7567 : Agent 𝜋𝜀𝛾-0000  
  
** _Pi Epsilon Gamma_ , she scoffs. Kylo will never find her now. Not that he’s looking. If he was he would have come back already. It’s funny, she thinks bitterly, how much her new code name looks like her real name. Funny that the numbers are set to 0. Until she takes a mission that is. When her number will change to whatever sector she’s sent to.  
  
She briefly lets her mind wander. Lets herself imagine being on a mission and finding Kylo. Running into him on some fancy planet and meeting his wife and kids. Would she be able to handle it? Would she be able to look him in the eye? Would it finally close the wound that’s been festering since he left her?  
  
 _No_. She shakes her head. Not in disagreement but to dislodge the voice screaming in her head.  
  
She picks up the HoloPad and walks to the door, opening the station schematics to find directions to the MedBay. As she navigates the corridors she battles the voice in her head. The one that screams louder and louder with every step she takes towards her destination.  
  
The one that tells her that even if he came back to her when she’s a withered version of herself, old and grey, she’d take him back. She’d take him back when his wife has long passed and his children grown up because the universe isn’t big enough to contain the love she feels for him.  
  
What she needs is to get this mark removed. To excise the weight she carries on her shoulders every day. That’s what her voice is screaming against. That’s what she’ll do regardless of how loud it gets.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another fun fact to add to the roster - Rey's cadet number is Captain Rex's clone number. CT-7567.


	11. 24 Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I bet you he’s waiting for you.”_
> 
> _This time she snorts. Louder. More derisive. What could he possibly know about this._
> 
> _“I know a thing or two about soulmate marks. I’ve read the literature. And I can tell you, without a doubt, that … wherever he is, he’s in as much pain as you. I guarantee it.”_
> 
> _“That doesn’t help me,” she snarls. Because it doesn’t. So what, he’s in pain. Fine. Fine. She’ll bite. Take the small tidbit and twist it into some semblance of truth. It doesn’t negate that he’s ignored her for 8 years._
> 
> _“No. But …” the doctor pulls back and leans in his chair, eyes darting to the door like he’s got somewhere to be. He most likely does. These consultations are scheduled at 15 minute increments and she’s pretty sure she’s over her allotted time._
> 
> _“But?”_
> 
> _“Give me 24 hours okay kid?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one took a while to crank out but ... it's 7,000+ words of fluff and angst? 19 pages in my docs. 19 freaking pages for one chapter. I'm sorry in advance for subjecting you to so many words all at once. I can promise you we're literally one chapter away from answers. Okay maybe two.
> 
> On a more positive note, the next chapter is 50% written. I'm going to be cranking that one out rather quickly and the one after that as well. I'd like to post them in quick succession because it'll conclude their history and bring us on the precipice of resolution.
> 
> Thank you for sticking through my convoluted dreams and indulging my musings.

The overhead lights are bright. Intense, really.   
  
She wonders if she’ll ever get used to them. They’re not as bright as the sun yet they hurt her eyes exceptionally more. Almost like staring directly at the sun until it burns a dark spot into your vision. Maybe it’s the purity of the lights, flooding the room without the soft yellow film of the sun. Maybe it’s the lack of warmth on her skin that usually accompanies brightness of this caliber. Whatever it is, Rey is uncomfortable and has decided the lights are responsible.  
  
She’s not sitting on the standard metal examination tables she’s spent so much time on at the academy. This is a consultation room. Cozy and small with a plain white desk, two chairs facing each other and a body scanner capsule in the corner.   
  
She’s fidgeting with her ring. Twisting and turning it on her finger. Tracing the intricate pattern etched into its smooth exterior like she’s reading braille. Reading messages she imagines Kylo would have left between the little grooves. _I loved you once_ , they read, _we were made for each other_. She blinks furiously, willing his voice away.  
  
Is this the right thing to do? How will she explain this to the physician? Will the attending doctor be kind or look at her like she has three heads? Do they study Dr. Kenobi’s ideas? Or were they dismissed as pseudo-science?  
  
Finding the MedBay was easy enough. Getting checked in at the electronic booths was also easy enough. Finding the consultation room she was assigned to was … _not_. Apparently consultations, though they are available, happen in the bowels of the MedBay. Two floors down and through a maze of corridors similar to the agent quarters. She _almost_ walked into engineering by mistake when the hallway she was following abruptly changed colour and the HoloPad noted engineering was up ahead.  
  
She’d doubled back then and stuck to the little red dot on the map, following it to the tee until she found the tiny examination room in a sea of others. To add insult to injury, if she’d only used her eyes instead of letting her mind wander, she would have seen the display across the front of the door read **𝜋𝜀𝛾-0000**.  
  
Now she’s waiting for the physician to arrive, nervous and on the edge of her seat. She’s warring with herself, an inner dialogue urging her to stay, _no_ flee. Her rational mind screaming _enough is enough_. The other voice in her head battering against her skull to _get out, get out, get out, protect your bond_.   
  
But why should she? He’s not protecting anything. He doesn’t give a fuck about her or their bond. He _left_ her and hasn’t tried to make contact since. Sure, maybe he’d had to finish his schooling. Maybe he had a tough time explaining their bond to his family. But he’s a fucking _adult_ now. One year, maybe two she’d forgive. But eight? _Eight?_ **Eight years** of total unrelenting silence? Silence so heavy it became _loud_. It became oppressive and threatened to smother her. No.  
  
The door behind her whirrs softly, carrying with it a disheveled man in a white coat. He’s older with a full white beard, crystal clear blue eyes, long blond hair peppered with white streaks. He’s got a prosthetic hand and a stern expression. He also looks flustered. Like her presence is an inconvenience. There’s a caf stain on his pristine white coat and a smear of what looks like caked on jam that’s crusted and days old.  
  
That’s funny, she thinks. With all the modernization space travel has afforded humanity, the white lab coat has stuck around like the eternal uniform for medical professionals. The absolute symbol of medicine.  
  
The same way he’d entered the room (like a rogue sandstorm in the middle of a calm desert) he plops himself into the chair opposite hers, sliding his HoloPad before him to pull up her file.  
  
He tuts while scrolling, sprinkling in a healthy dose of _mmhmmm_ and _aah_. A good 5 minutes go by as he reads her (practically immaculate) medical record. Not once making eye contact with her. Only stroking his beard in what appears to be feigned interest while he pours over the little medical information in her chart.  
  
She knows there’s nothing there. Other than a few broken bones, standard post-sparring stitches and the required contraceptive implants she’s a picture of health. Her body is resilient. She’s got 20/20 vision. Her blood pressure normal. Her heart strong. She braces herself for the inevitable ‘ _what do you want’_ he’s sure to smack her with.  
  
“Why are you here?” he finally asks the question she knew was coming, fixing her with his clear blue eyes for the first time. They’re intense. Drilling into her very soul like he’ll pull the answer he seeks from her wordlessly.  
  
“I-I…” she shifts in her seat uncomfortably, her thumb instinctively folds to rub back and forth soothingly against her mark. She thinks he sees, but his eyes flutter down for only an instance. He could be looking at her HoloPad.  
  
The doctor sighs, swiping up on his own pad with her patient chart. “I’m Dr. Skywalker. Luke. Luke Skywalker. I’m a busy man and based on your history, I can’t fathom why you’re here. So let’s cut the bullshit and spit it out.”  
  
His eyes fix her again, colder this time.  
  
“You’re obviously new. You probably liked the meclizine in the o2 tanks on the way up. That why you’re here? Hmm? You want some feel good drugs?”  
  
She feels his words hit like a bucket of cold water. _No that’s not why I’m here you prick_. All she can manage to do is shake her head and swallow heavily.  
  
“Then?”  
  
How does she tell him? Where does she start? Why did he have to be so mean? This Dr. Luke … Skywalker … _Skywalker_ …  
  
Her brows furrow in confusion and before she can think better of it the question at the tip of her tongue just slips, “Skywalker? Do … do you have family back home on Earth?”  
  
He blinks back a little surprised before he nods. “I do. An uncle I haven’t seen since I was a child. Why?”  
  
She shifts in her seat again, the plastic squeaking and groaning as she squirms. Clearly these rooms don’t see much action. “You don’t happen to, umm, know a … uh … Kylo Ren?”  
  
 _What have I done?  
  
_ Dr. Skywalker cocks his head to the side, looking at her in confusion. Eyes darting between her face and her hands which are clasped in her lap now twisting the ring on her finger nervously.  
  
“I don’t,” he answers flatly. He looks honestly confused. Rey feels herself deflate. She’s not sure when hope had begun to bloom in the last few minutes of conversation. Only that it didn’t leave as quietly as it came. Where it built slowly and imperceptibly, it was washed away violently, battered away by a tidal wave.  
  
A heavy silence settles over them. She’s so consumed in the mental battle she barely hears Dr. Skywalker speak. Barely hears the change in his voice that’s gone from harsh to a little soft. She glances up to meet his eyes that have also softened. He’s looking at her now, not as a doctor but as a person searching another for intention. There’s no clinical sterility in his eyes anymore.  
  
“What can I do for you?”  
  
“I,” she takes in a deep breath, “I was wondering about memory excision.”  
  
His eyes snap to hers, the coldness returning.  
  
“Not advisable. Memories are rooted in multiple synapses. The procedure _is_ possible but full excision is nearly always a failure.”  
  
She nods but can feel her face screwing in sadness. Can feel her throat closing.  
  
“A single memory is stored in many places. And they’re not clusters. They’re deeply interconnected in our minds. If we excise … _whatever_ you’re looking to excise … there will be gaps in your memory. Things that elicit a feeling that you can’t place. If you had a traumatic accident climbing a tree and we remove it, you’ll still have a negative reaction to trees but won’t be able to figure out why. And even if we remove _those_ there’ll be other things. Like if it’s an apple tree and you were climbing to pick one, you’ll react negatively to apples. If it was sunny it could be sunny days. If there was a bee, to bees. Do you understand? How messy this can be?”  
  
She nods, looking down at her hands. A tear escapes her and drips into her lap, darkening the stiff fabric of her standard issue uniform.  
  
“In short,” he adds, that softness returning to his voice, “you’ll go mad and you won’t even understand why.”  
  
He pauses, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms on his chest. Rey can’t look at him. This doctor just shot down her hopes of forgetting.  
  
“Look, I’m all for experimenting with procedures if it can save a life. But you’re young. You’re healthy. You have a whole life ahead of you. Whatever it is you want to forget, I’m sure you can find another way to do it.”  
  
She’s shaking her head, tears flowing freely. He doesn’t understand. He _couldn’t_ understand how much these memories have scarred her. How deep the wounds go. Just how much she’d be willing to risk to make them stop.  
  
She can hear him release a deep breath, then, even more gently than before, “does this have anything to do with this … Kylo Ren?”  
  
Her eyes drift up to meet Dr. Skywalker’s. She’s tired. Too tired to hide. Too tired to put the mask on and lets him see the brunt of her emotional distress. How much it hurts. How much she’s tormented every day by the memories she carries. She knows he sees it because his eyes widen a little in surprise and his jaw slackens just a touch. She sees his brows turn down, like he can _feel_ her sadness.  
  
“Is…” she hiccups wiping the tears from her cheeks, trying to keep her voice steady, “is there anything you can do a-about this?”  
  
With whatever bravery she has left in her body, she splays her fingers and juts her hand out towards him, making sure her middle finger is clearly parted and turned towards him. Fingers shaking from exertion, chin quivering and little sniffles escaping her unbidden.  
  
“ _Please?_ ”  
  
The physician’s eyebrows shoot up into his hairline and his hand reaches out tentatively before he pulls it back, fishing in a drawer for gloves. He snaps them on eagerly before he grabs her hand and twists it between his. Prodding and probing, turning her middle finger over and twisting the bone gently. The inspection _looks_ rougher than it feels, then again, Rey is, and has been, numb for about 8 years now.  
  
“Soulmate mark. Rare. _Really_ rare. How…”  
  
“It doesn’t matter. Can you remove it?” she interrupts before he can ask anymore details. He doesn’t need to know. She just needs his expertise to get rid of it. Maybe its removal will take the memories with it. Maybe all it’ll do is let them finally fade. Whatever the risk, she’s willing to take it.  
  
He’s analyzing it still, stroking this thumb over it ever so gently. She feels her heart stutter. It almost makes her feel like Ben is near. She can _almost_ feel his presence. It makes her wince and pull back her hand, fisting her middle finger with her opposite hand. Squeezing it to make the humming stop and the electricity fade.  
  
Dr. Skywalker leans forward, over his desk, eyes full of questions. She sees them dancing on the precipice of his parted lips. Sees them flit across his eyes one after the other, not one being voiced. His eyes dart back and forth like he’s reading invisible questions in the air, too many to fathom, trying to pick the right one.  
  
“Who _are_ you?” he asks, brows knitted and eyes squinted, like he’s trying to pluck the answer from her mind.  
  
“Pi Epsilon Gamma,” she juts her chin at the HoloPad in front of him. His answer is right _fucking_ there.  
  
“No really, who _are_ you?” he asks again, leaning forward just the slightest bit more, hovering halfway over the desk. Apparently this has piqued his interest beyond a medical capacity.  
  
It’s confusing, the way this physician is eyeing her. The way he’s leaning in like he wants to know a secret that’s not medical in nature _at all_. “CT-7567.”  
  
He sighs, leaning back in his chair. His face has softened significantly but he’s shaking his head. “Your real name, kid. Who are you?”  
  
She blinks once, twice, confusion painting her features. Why does it matter? This has no bearing on what she’s asking or to her usefulness to the station.  
  
“R-Rey, sir. Rey Niima.”  
  
Dr. Skywalker’s eyes widen and he seems to swallow heavily. He takes a deep breath in through his nose before he starts again.  
  
“When … did you get the mark around the time of the Battle of Empires?”  
  
Why is he asking her this? It doesn’t matter!  
  
She nods, a knot forming in her throat. Maybe he’d seen Kylo. Maybe he’d asked this doctor to remove the mark. That’s how he knows. The revelation settles in her gut like a stone. If it was around the time of the Battle of Empires, Kylo would have asked to have the mark removed immediately after leaving her.  
  
 _He didn’t even wait. He never even tried.  
  
_ Tears well up and her chest heaves, her lips quiver and she tries with every ounce of strength in her body to stop herself from tipping over the edge and letting the sadness overtake her in front of this man.   
  
It doesn’t work. She collapses onto the desk, her grief pouring out of her as she burst into tears. Ribs wracking against the heaving sobs, desparate to catch her breath.  
  
“ _Please_. You don’t understand,” she chokes out between sobs, “he doesn’t want me. He left and never came back. It hurts so much. _So_ so much. Please just make it stop … I … I can’t.”  
  
She feels a gentle hand on her forearm, the warm stickiness of the rubber glove Dr. Skywalker is wearing. She can’t break down now, he needs to understand.  
  
Lifting her eyes to meet his, she lets the remainder of her mask crumble. Lets her emotions remain on display for this man. “Please? He’s probably married with children now and has forgotten about me. I just … I just want it to not hurt anymore.”

  
  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

Since her grandmother’s passing, their relationship had evolved yet again. This time it wasn’t the nature of their relationship that had evolved as much as their relation with the others. They seemed to accept their bond, or at the very least the two of them as a pair.  
  
Her parents didn’t bat an eye, neither did the Skywalkers. Jacen still frowned but that wasn’t out of the ordinary for him. In fact, the elders seemed happy. Like it was confirmation of something they’d already known. Like they had hoped this would be the outcome and that hope they’d sown had finally grown roots. Had sprouted.  
  
She doesn’t know how it happened but that first night he’d slept in her bed with her. She woke up with a clothed Ben pressed against her back, cocooning her. He’d kissed her good morning and hugged her tightly, holding her for far too long. So long she heard her parents stir. Heard her mother making breakfast and her father heating water for caf.  
  
When they’d climbed downstairs her parents had smiled and they’d had breakfast together like it was normal. Her parents chatting with Ben about the state of the farm while they were gone.   
  
Her father had given her a fleeting glimpse, but in it she read everything she needed to know. He’d permitted Ben to stay the night. Probably asked him to comfort her. Her father had understood she needed him and gave his blessing.   
  
And so their relationship evolved yet again. Out in the open this time. Into something real and tangible. Something accepted and public. Even if it was only shared between their small family units.  
  
He’d stayed with her most nights that week.

  
  


…

  
  


She’s squinting at her sketchpad, running her pencil over the drawing ever so lightly. _More dirt_ , she thinks as she adds depth to the blunt fingernails on the paper. They’re perfect, fingers identical replica of the real deal. So lifelike she could almost reach into the sketch to interlace them with her own.  
  
They’re sitting on the rickety dock by the creek. She’s engrossed in sketching his hands while he’s reading a lesson module on his HoloPad. Or so she thinks. When she looks up to his face in profile she sees it screwed in concentration. His mouth creasing his cheek in a frown.  
  
“Owen says I have an urgent message from home,” he says, eyes never lifting from the HoloPad. There’s a trace of worry in his voice. She can see it. Hear it. He’s wistful and far away. Like he’s not sitting beside her on the dock but is somewhere else entirely.  
  
The summer is drawing to a close. September is around the corner and with it the fall harvest. With it, another year of education for him which she’s almost certain he’ll need to go home for. Maybe that’s what the message is about. His summer is over and he’s being hailed back to his real life. The one without her.  
  
His hand finds hers and he interlaces their fingers, squeezing gently but still not looking away from the HoloPad.  
  
It should worry her, the way he’s acting. The way he feels so far away. But it can’t seem to fully manifest. Sure, he’ll probably go back to the city but it’s not so far away. They can always communicate through commlink. They’re together and nothing can change that. Not a few hundred miles or a few measly months. Maybe she’ll take a job at the outpost after the harvest, save up some credits and surprise him with a visit. He’d like that, she thinks.  
  
She squeezes his fingers right back, pressing their marks together to set the air alight with their bond. His lips quirk and she can see a smile begin to grace his face. The worry melting off him just a fraction.  
  
“He says you should come for dinner and spend the night. Your dad already said yes.”  
  
She puts her sketchpad down and scoots closer to him, placing a soft kiss to his cheek before leaning her head on his shoulder. His hand releases hers and snakes behind her back to pull her closer, to rest his cheek against the top of her head.  
  
They stay there quietly for God knows how long. Feet dipped in the running water, toes tracing circles as it laps softly against their exposed feet, the sun high overhead beating down on them. The air is thick with the humm of their bond, a bubble containing just the two of them.  
  
“I’d like that,” she finally murmurs.  
  
His arm wraps around her tighter.

  
  


…

  
  


Beru made a sweet potato and corn hash for dinner. They sat and enjoyed it with a glass of Vita-C, chatting about the upcoming harvest. Owen told her the yams were doing exceptionally well and when the time came, he’d have at least a spare bushell to give her for her family to dehydrate.   
  
Ben joked she’d already done a good job dehydrating him with all the farm work and bumped her shoulder with his playfully. Grasped her hand in plain sight and interlaced their fingers openly. Nobody reacted with the exception of Jacen who’d either scowl or roll his eyes. Maybe he’s mad that nobody's willing to whoop his ass at that X-Wing game he’s so fond of at losing at, she mused around a mouthful of sweet potato.  
  
Owen scraped his bowl clean then leaned back in his chair, “Ready for that message?” he directed the question at Ben.  
  
Ben, who turned to look at Rey and smile. She’d noticed Jacen bristle but ignored it, nodding at Ben instead, urging him to go on.  
  
“Well,” he reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers again, “what is it?”  
  
His uncle looked around the table a little confused. He cleared his throat, leaning forward, “B-Kylo, I-I think it’s private.”  
  
“I have nothing to hide. Not from you guys or Rey.”  
  
She feels his fingers tighten around hers. Can feel his heartbeat picking up where his pulse is strongest through the tips of his fingers.  
  
“It’s from your mother,” Owen says standing up. There’s something secretive about the way he does it. Like he can’t look at either of them.   
  
Ben’s face darkens. Maybe it _is_ what she’d thought earlier. He’s being called home to finish his schooling. The semester would be starting soon and he’d have to at the very least get his HoloPad synced with the new lesson plans.   
  
She squeezes his hand, hoping it’ll communicate her support, “It’s okay, I’ll help Beru with the dishes. Go on. Go with Owen.”  
  
Ben looks at her for a long moment. Perhaps too long before he nods and gets up. She doesn’t want to analyze the slew of emotions that flicker across his face. They’ll examine everything when they’re alone later. Before he leaves, he hovers over her, kissing the top of her head, lips lingering a touch too long before he pulls away, following Owen out of the front door.

  
  


…

  
  


“Sweetheart, you’re a menace,” his voice drips behind her. She’s butt naked walking into the small bathroom of the dome, employing her best sultry hip sway. Not that there is much in terms of hips _to_ sway. But it seems to do the trick on Ben nonetheless. With him she feels like those sultry women in old movies who bat their lashes and get their way.  
  
He’d been quick with Owen. Only gone for only about 15 minutes while she and Beru cleaned dinner off the table and put away the leftovers. While Rey washed the dishes, Beru had disappeared to their loft to produce a fluffy towel and a toothbrush for her. Just as Beru put the towel down on the clean kitchen table Ben had walked back in with his uncle in tow.   
  
Owen didn’t look at her, but she noticed the rueful smile he threw Beru. Ben too seemed morose but he took her side and helped her dry the dishes in companionable silence. He’d made quick work of drying the cutlery or plates and she’d shimmied around the kitchen tucking the items into their assigned spots.  
  
When they’d finished he’d bid his family good night, grabbed Rey’s towel and toothbrush, interlaced their fingers and pulled her along to his guest dome. There was something urgent in his movements. A desperation she’d never felt in him before.   
  
Sure, sometimes when they were intimate he’d show her a desperation of a different kind. A need to bring them both to ecstasy that was borderline dire, but that was always sweet. Like sponge cake soaked in syrup. It made her feel immersed in him. It was honeyed and slow, gratifying to the core even if the accompanying movements were needy.  
  
The way he tugged at her hand now, the way he squeezed her fingers was a desperation of a different kind. It had a tinge of sadness. Like he was running out of time. Maybe his mother did ask him to come home and finish schooling. Maybe he’d told his mother about her and it hadn’t gone well. She’d like to ask but the way he walked, the consternation on his face gave her pause. Instead she let him lead. Let him work through whatever emotions were playing out inside his head. He’ll share when he’s ready, she reasoned.  
  
When they’re safely tucked inside, she stops him. Tugging his hand back to force him into facing her. He looks exhausted. His shoulders are sagging, slumping forward. His brows are scrunched with worry. His gaze is firmly on the ground and she uses her forefinger to nudge his chin up.  
  
The look in his eyes _should_ worry her. She _should_ ask him what the conversation was about or why he’s upset. But the only thing she can do is wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, slotting her lips against his in a gentle press.  
  
“You okay?” She asks between kisses.  
  
“Yeah,” he scoops her up, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. “We have a lot,” he smacks a wet sloppy kiss to her lips, “to talk about.”  
  
He’s carrying her to the bed, leaning forward to deposit her onto his soft white sheets and plethora of pillows. His kisses trail down her cheek onto her neck, down to her collarbone where he starts to tug at her tunic clumsily.  
  
“But first,” his hand travels down to her leggings, “I _need_ you. May I?”  
  
When their gaze meets again, she sees the other need has manifested in his eyes. It’s open and honest, as usual. It’s one she knows how to respond to intuitively. He needs her physically and who is she to deny her soulmate? Except they’re both filthy from a long day in the fields and his bed is too pristine to ruin.  
  
She pushes him off her to stand, his face falling as though the motion was a stern _no_. But oh, how little he knows her. As if she could ever deny him anything. She smiles, offering him a soft brush of the cheek with her fingers before stripping out of her clothes completely and walking towards the bathroom.  
  
“First we ought to get cleaned up. _Then_ we can make a mess of each other.”  
  
And that’s how she finds herself being pressed against the cold tiles of the shower, water beating down over their nude bodies after he’d called her a menace. Hands massaging shampoo sloppily while their tongues tangle under the too-small showerhead. Their movements both hurried and slow.   
  
Fingers moving in a frenzy to get the other cleaned as quickly as possible, to get out and begin ravishing each other in earnest. Tongues stroking into each other’s mouths like they have all the time in the world. His arousal prodding her belly like the balance between their unhurried kisses and frantic washing. An urgent reminder of what needs to be done and what is waiting.  
  
“I think you’re good to go,” she murmurs against his lips, running her hands through his hair to rinse out the remainder of the shampoo.  
  
“Thank fuck,” he presses his hardness against her, “I was beginning to think I’d never get you to bed.”  
  
Their lips connect again as his hands work to rinse the shampoo out of her hair in return but she can’t help release little spurts of giggles between his kisses. It’s impossible not to laugh, really. The way his body is demanding her but his hands consciously take their time to wash her gently. The way he’s awkwardly hunched in the too small space panting heavily but trying to keep it together. When his fingers start squeaking in her hair in that telltale sign she’s utterly clean, she reaches behind her to turn off the tap.  
  
His breath hitches against her lips, pressing her against him by the small of her back in anticipation. Canting his hips forward to rub the length of him against her belly. It lights a fire in her soul and releases a trickle of wetness between her legs. One the shower has no bearing on.  
  
His hand swats around until it captures a towel which he uses to roughly pat her down. When his hand grazes between her legs he lets out a satisfied groan.  
  
“So wet for me already,” he mumbles, “mmmm, can’t wait to taste you.”  
  
He lets the towel drop halfway through drying her, having found something of far greater interest. Hand honing between her legs where his fingers slide easily between her folds. Where he begins to draw slow circles around her aching bud, intensifying the pleasure.  
  
“Ben,” she sighs, her body responding to his touches by going utterly limp, “we need to dry you off.”  
  
“Screw it,” he rasps, mouth latching onto her neck like a leech, “we’re about to get sweaty anyway.”  
  
He lifts her up and she instinctively wraps her legs around his bare waist, feeling his erection slide between her folds. He begins carrying her out of the shower, towards the bed she assumes but she quickly nabs the other towel and begins patting him down clumsily before he clears the doorway.  
  
“You’re ridiculous,” she scrubs the towel against his wet hair, ruffling the wet mop, “I’m _not_ sleeping in a wet bed because you’re horny.”  
  
He answers in turn by pinning her against the wall and sliding the length of himself through her roughly. Moaning against her neck and gripping her hips with bruising force.  
  
“Hurry up and dry me then,” he grunts against her neck, grinding himself against her.  
  
“You’re distracting me!”  
  
“Sweetheart,” his head drops further to latch around a nipple and suck. Tongue flicking up and over the taut bud making her shiver. “You have exactly 3 seconds to finish or I fuck you right here against the wall.”  
  
 _That wouldn’t be too bad…  
  
_ “That is … the worst threat … I’ve ever,” she pants between his thrusts, the towel dropping from her loosened fingers as her head lolls against the wall, “... heard.”  
  
She’s barely gritted out the words when he’s decided he’s had enough. Pulling back just enough to line himself up and start pushing in. From this angle it feels utterly new. It feels like she’s being split in two. Not that it’s a novel feeling what with the size of him. It’s just open like this, completely at his mercy. She feels raw, fragile. Like an exposed wire, sizzling and ready to spark.  
  
“Couldn’t wait,” he grunts, bringing his lips back up to her neck as he works himself inside her. Filling her to the brim until their hips meet. He’s pinned her between his hips and the wall, arms releasing her hipbones to loop under her thighs and grip her waist. For a brief moment, the only thing holding her up is her trembling thighs clinging to his waist and his length spearing her onto his lap.   
  
His face finds hers and he kisses her deeply. Tongue seeking out hers as he delves past her lips in a rough kiss. He’s not moving and, quite frankly, it’s a little infuriating because that’s what she needs right now.  
  
She cants her hips forward, trying to get much needed friction.   
  
He pulls away from her face, glancing down where they’re joined to pull out halfway slowly, creating a drag that sets her nerve endings on fire. Makes her gasp at the luscious feel of him.   
  
Just as slowly as he’s pulled out, he pushes back in. “You just had to _insist_ on taking a shower,” he groans between kisses, “couldn’t just lemme make love to you in bed like … _mmpf_ … I wanted.” He’s set a slow and sensual pace, one even he can’t seem to abide by judging by how his hips stutter. Then again, she’s definitely making it hard the way she bucks back, searching out more _of_ him.  
  
“I was gonna, lay you down and eat you out,” he drags his cock out until just the head of him is left, bringing her right to the very edge of her sanity with anticipation of the friction to come, “but _nooooo_. Shower, she says.”  
  
His hips snap forward, jolting her against the wall and drawing a long loud moan from her. He’s setting a new pace, one that’s harder and rougher than usual and it’s electrifying. It renders her boneless and has erased any semblance of coherence. She’s pure sensation now. A book propped open between his body and the wall, words to be read on the page but never spoken aloud.   
  
She feels his thrusts stutter, feels the length of him harden impossibly further inside her. He’s on the verge of orgasm and it’s a pity, really. She’s enjoying the way he’s ravishing her. The feel of this. She’d much prefer if this went on forever. For infinity.  
  
“Fuck, baby I’m so close,” he’s slowing down, almost halting completely but she can feel him twitch inside. His cock yearning for that sweet friction as much as she. “Think you can come?”  
  
The brief pause gives her time to think, to recollect her thoughts that were all but nonexistent only moments ago. It’s the lull and she knows it. A quick check in before they fall back into bliss. It’s also enough time for her to form a witty response she knows will set him over the edge.  
  
“Already?”  
  
Nobody said it was eloquent or brilliant. Just snarky enough to make him snap back into the heat of things.  
  
“Brat,” he plants a sloppy kiss on her lips and grinds his hips against her. The motion rubs her swollen nub just right, making her whole body shudder against his.  
  
In three swift strides he’s hoisted her up further, turned around and is lowering their joined bodies on the bed. He settles himself in the cradle of her thighs, hands now free to roam and explore. His left reaches up, gently brushing up her body to find her right hand and interlace their fingers. His right arm rests on the mattress, allowing him to weave his fingers through her hair and pull her in for a kiss. All the while his hips have started an unhurried shallow thrust, accentuated by a rolling grind when their hips meet.  
  
It’s delicious. It’s transcendental. It’s as beautiful and magical as every single time they’re together.   
  
“Ben!”  
  
Her hips meet his, matching his rhythm to press them that much closer together. Chasing her building orgasm. If she were being honest with herself, she’d been on the brink since they’d gotten in the shower and she felt his erection press against her belly. Every press, every nudge, every kiss and every brush of their skin has been peeling her layers away one by one like stripping an ear of its husk. Until this moment where she’s left bare and ready to combust.  
  
His cock sliding into her in equal parts urgent and gentle thrusts, mouths sealed together in strings of sloppy kisses, damp hair plastered to their foreheads and strewn across the pillows. Their sweaty chests brush against each other in hot, wet kisses of sticky skin.  
  
She can feel his abdominals flex as he grinds himself into her. Feel the girth of him caressing her walls. The heat of him filling her so completely there’s no space. The only sounds in the room are those of their panting breaths, the wet sounds of their coupling, the sloppy clicking of their tongues and the roaring of blood in her ears, pounding in time with her heartbeat.   
  
“Come sweetheart,” he murmurs against her lips, “come with me beautiful.”  
  
And how the fuck does he do that? Can he feel her starting to clench? Her walls start to flutter? Can he feel that she’s right there? Or does he know that his words are what she needs to tip over the edge?   
  
Their bond is humming and their hips are rocking so perfectly that his words set her into a free fall. She lets herself go and falls into floating between the stars. Barely noticing that she’s arched her back into him, that her free hand is tangled in his messy hair or that she’s squeezing his hand. Barely aware that she’s definitely clamping down on him, slowing his pace. Barely aware that she’s moaning his name incoherently or that he’s groaning against her lips as he spills into her.  
  
She’s only aware that she’s weightless. The sharpness of her orgasm catapulting her into orbit where she’s floating endlessly among the stars. Ben the grounding weight tethering her to Earth. Ben.  
  
Ben whose body weight is crushing her. Whose heartbeat she can feel pounding against her chest. Who’s peppering her temple with gentle kisses and twitching still between her legs.   
  
Ben who manages to shift them to their sides and hugs her into his chest.  
  
“I love you Rey. More and more each day. If that’s even possible.”  
  
It’s the last thing she registers before she falls asleep.

  
  


...

  
  


There’s a sharp pulse of pleasure. Her clit throbbing and her hips gyrating in search for whatever warm, wet pressure is stirring her awake. No. Maybe it’s the soft morning light filtering through the small window. No. There are wet clicking sounds.   
  
Her ear ticks and her eyes shift beneath her lids. There’s a warm weight around her thighs. She’s acutely aware that her legs are spread open. That there’s something silky tickling her inner thighs. _Ohhh_.  
  
There’s the unmistakable flick of a tongue laving her already swollen nub and she moans into it groggily. She lets her eyes drift open and her head roll to the side to look down where, yep, Ben’s bleary eyes are looking up at her and smiling. Flat tongue swiping up her seam lazily.  
  
“Good morning,” he kisses her inner thigh.  
  
“Morning,” she half sighs half moans.  
  
“Wanted to do this last night,” his clever mouth seals over her to suckle her clit. Little tugs in quick succession that make her abdomen clench and hands fist the sheets. “May I please make you come like this?” He makes a show of sucking against her before releasing her with a wet pop, “I missed kissing you here.”  
  
He’s right. They haven’t been intimate in a week. Between her loss and their being allowed to spend the night, they’ve been too preoccupied or shy to do this. It was the openness that made them feel it was wrong to indulge in sexual activities under her parents nose. This is the first time they’ve been together and she’s _missed_ this.   
  
She nods sleepily, bringing her hand down to trace his jaw. Run her fingers gently up his cheek and over his temple. Push his soft waves off his forehead and take in his beautiful hazel eyes.   
  
Those eyes that are practically sparkling with joy as he sets forth on eating her out at a leisurely pace. His tongue laps and laps against her, working her up and making her quiver. The anticipation pulling her taut like a bow mere minutes after waking up.  
  
“My mother,” he murmurs as he kisses her cunt, “wants me to go home.”  
  
Interesting time to have this conversation…  
  
“When?” she manages to huff out breathlessly.  
  
There’s the sound of wet suction, the clicking of his tongue and the blissful pulse of her orgasm drawing closer.  
  
“Don’t know yet,” he latches onto her clit and starts unleashing waves of suction and rolling the tip of his tongue against her bud. She’s close, so close just a little more…  
  
“Have a call with her tonight to figure out the details,” he presses open mouthed kisses against her, “I want you to come with me Rey. Come home with me.”  
  
He latches on again, this time his mouth moves against her with a desperation reminiscent of that of last night. When he’d held her hand like it was his last day. She’s nodding furiously because _yes_ she’ll go. _Yes_ whatever he wants. _Yes_ she’s going to come…  
  
The tip of his tongue slides up and down against that one spot that breaks her dam. Building her up and up with each swipe until she crests, releasing her orgasm on a silent whimper. He holds her through the shudder. Holds her and laps at her languidly, prolonging the orgasm and working her through it.  
  
When she’s wrung out and utterly limp, his body slides up hers to capture her lips. He tastes of her. He tastes of morning breath and Ben. He tastes like forever.  
  
“I’ll know more tonight. Then we can start planning okay?”  
  
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips.  
  
They doze holding each other for what feels like eternity. Completely immersed in their little bubble. Only to be brought back to earth by a soft knock on the door and Jacen’s voice.  
  
“Breakfast is ready.”  
  
 _"Shit_ ," Ben mutters.  
  
They get dressed in record time. Brushing their teeth side by side in the nude giggling and bumping shoulders. Pulling tunics and pants on each other playfully. Scurrying out the door in a flash.  
  
She didn’t realize she’d left the paired comm behind.   
  
She didn’t realize it would be her last day with him. That night she’d separated from him to let him talk to his mother in peace for as long as he liked. That night he disappeared.

  
  
  
  
  
  


“I can’t bear it. _Please_. It’s been 8 years. _8 years_!” her back is heaving and her face is pressed into her sleeve. She’s pretty sure there’s snot mixing with her tears, ruining the brand new standard issue tunic she’d received barely an hour ago.  
  
Dr. Skywalker’s hand keeps patting her forearm in some pathetic gesture to calm her. Like he could _ever_ understand what it feels like to not have the one thing your body, mind, and soul crave. Like he could _ever_ understand what it feels like to walk around with half a soul.   
  
“Rey?” his voice is soft. Gentle even. “I know you won’t believe me but I can promise you there’s no way … B- _Kylo_ is married or has children. I - I would bet this is all a big misunderstanding.”  
  
She scoffs, sniffling. A dribble runs down her lips to her chin when she lifts to meet the doctor’s eyes. She wipes it on her ruined sleeve inelegantly. _Bullshit_.  
  
“I bet you he’s waiting for you.”  
  
This time she snorts. Louder. More derisive. What could he _possibly_ know about this.   
  
“I know a thing or two about soulmate marks. I’ve read the literature. And I can tell you, without a doubt, that … wherever he is, he’s in as much pain as you. I guarantee it.”  
  
“That doesn’t help me,” she snarls. Because it doesn’t. So what, he’s in pain. Fine. _Fine_. She’ll bite. Take the small tidbit and twist it into some semblance of truth. It doesn’t negate that he’s ignored her for _8 years_.   
  
“No. But …” the doctor pulls back and leans in his chair, eyes darting to the door like he’s got somewhere to be. He most likely does. These consultations are scheduled at 15 minute increments and she’s pretty sure she’s over her allotted time.  
  
“But?”  
  
“Give me 24 hours okay kid?” Dr. Skywalker stands up, peeling his gloves off, “I’ll be in touch.”  
  
With the same whirlwind he’d dragged into the room upon entry, he leaves. No further words. He didn’t even take the HoloPad with him. Just up and left after telling her he’d be in touch. Like a fleeting vision in a dream.  
  
Rey pulls herself together.  
  
 _24 hours_. In 24 hours she’ll be free if she believes this man. She can do that. She’s waited 8 years. She can wait one more day.  
  
She follows her HoloPad’s directions back to her quarters. Each step feels like it doesn’t belong to her. Her _body_ feels foreign. Utterly wrung out and drained.  
  
 _24 hours.  
  
_ When she arrives, she listlessly drops into the bed fully clothed. Her eyes are heavy. Her heart is heavy. The lights above her blur and she falls into the first deep slumber she’s had in 8 years.

  
  



	12. Tomorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Luke pulls away awkwardly but not before grasping his left hand. The hand that he’s held so many times when they’d sit together talking about Rey. Ben wants to flinch, wants to pull away and walk the fuck out of his mother’s office but there’s something in his uncle’s eyes._
> 
> _He can’t help but soften. This man has let him cry openly. Let him blubber and sob like a toddler. Has dug into the archives and procured sealed documents for them to research. These 8 long years, Luke had been by his side. Comforting him. Imparting soulmate wisdom. Stroking the little sliver of hope he harboured and never letting him give up. If Ben was a fire, Luke was his watchful keeper. Never letting the light and warmth snuff out._
> 
> _He’s the only one he’s given her name to. The only one who’d truly listened and deserved to hear that short little combination of letters that’s been tattooed onto his heart so long ago._
> 
> _So it’s strange when he feels his uncle’s cold prosthetic hand turn his middle finger to expose the mark. Strange that he runs his thumb over it gently, huffing out a victorious laugh. Stranger still when his uncle’s eyes meet his with a twinkle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pfew! Another biggie! Maybe it's worth saying this (because I'm updating slower than usual) but these are the parts of my dream that aren't clear. I get immersed in snippets and this is how I would imagine the pieces fitting together. 
> 
> Either way ... hope you enjoy this bit. Another enlightening piece of Ben's perspective that should snap everything into perspective. The next chapter will close out their past. Ch. 13 is approximately 75% written. I'll try to finish it today and edit tomorrow. Should be up in 24/48 hours.

His boots thud against the polished black floors of the engineering bay. Sparks fly around him and metal clanks as the engineers work at repairing or patching whatever the hell they're elbow deep in. A fresh flurry of sparks glimmer in the air from nearby, almost reminding him of the fireflies from so long ago. If they were aggressive and not bumbling slowly through the air that is.  
  
He can’t help but feel like Rey would love this part of H.O.M.E. She’d make a marvellous engineer. She always had a way with machinery. An intuitive understanding of how a piece of equipment functions and how its guts collaborate to complete whatever task it was designed to perform. Like she naturally understood the puzzle before even having the pieces. So intuitive, she’d been able to use mismatched parts to restore the junkiest of junk.   
  
Like her old speeder. Sure it was a piece of shit and he worried it would kill his precious soulmate. At first he’d had a mild heart attack thinking of it combusting on a trip and snuffing out her light. Ridiculous scenarios playing in his mind's eye of everything that could go wrong. Scenes from horror movies featuring severed limbs, buckets of blood and fiery explosions. But it was solid. He’d had a chance to ride it himself and that piece of junk was as solid as the new machinery he’d seen in the hangars of the station. Maybe even moreso.  
  
Sure, it would groan and sputter … but it worked. It never overheated, never so much as fail to start. She’d done an excellent job patching it up and restoring it. Even if he never admitted it to her, it was safe enough for the precious cargo it carried.  
  
Did he fix it up for her? Of course. He’d had Owen order parts to replace the shoddy ones she’d used. Had his uncle hunt down OEM so they could fit seamlessly and require less maintenance. He made modifications to help it perform better. Practically restoring its innards to original manufacturer specs. Made it _safer_ for the love of his life. But even without his expensive upgrades it worked just fine. Everything he’d done was really unnecessary. She was a master mechanic.   
  
The hall of the engineering bay veers right beneath his feet and the floors change from onyx to milk. The white halls of the MedBay’s consultation and office wing sprawl before him endlessly. A sterile labyrinth that’s woefully deserted on the busiest of days.  
  
He pauses and sighs, preparing himself for what is sure to be inevitable. Luke is on duty this evening and with his luck, he’ll run into his uncle. Be peppered with more questions about his soulmate mark he’s not willing to answer. The man’s curiosity mixed with his eccentricity don’t bode well for Ben on most days. There’s something unnerving about feeling like absolute shit and having to field doe-eyed questions about your softest spots. Be looked at like a medical experiment, not a human being. One who misses his soulmate every single day. Some more than others. Days like today.  
  
He’s really not in the mood for his uncle's soft tone of voice and that condescending “how are you feeling today, Ben?”  
  
 _I’d like your help convincing my mother to let me the fuck go, so I can commandeer a shuttle down to Earth and find her. Any luck on that front? No? Then kindly fuck off.  
  
_ He gets a sick kind of satisfaction playing out these conversational exchanges in his head. Imagining the light snuffing out of his uncle’s bright blue eyes as Ben shuts down his curiosity. He _should_ feel bad about it. God knows his uncle’s been the one to support him the most through the hell he’d had to live these last 8 years. But instead, he finds vilifying those who stand in his way much more satisfying.  
  
It’s amazing, really. How utterly dense his family is. He’s had _one_ request. _One_ ask. _One_ need for 8 years. And for 8 _long_ years they deny him this. Trying to pacify him with stories and gifts. Political dinners and set up dates. Filling his schedule with ‘jobs’ he half asses but uses the credits to bolster his property with anyway. They still lavish him with their hopes of a fruitful career in politics. Maybe take over for his mother as senator for H.O.M.E. And maybe, _maybe_ , if they’d just bend a little, grant him his one request, he’d go along with their plans more easily. But they don’t. So neither does he.  
  
He begins to stride through the MedBay quietly. Not letting his feet thump quite as loudly as he usually does. There’s no one here to intimidate here anyway. Nobody usually holds office hours, nor are there ever any consultations. Upstairs is busy as hell. There’s always a minor burn or a bloody nose to mend. But down here? This is just a vestige of the medical wing’s prestige. A section where they get to pretend they’re not just like the engineers. Forever fixing but hardly ever researching or inventing. And invention is the mother of necessity - something the station knows nothing of. It wants for nothing.  
  
It’s also because the really good ones, the really talented doctors and brilliant minds don’t stay at the station. Instead using it as a learning opportunity. Completing their residency then fucking off to the colonies where life could really begin. Not that he blames them. He’d do the same thing if he had Rey.  
  
Every credit he’s ever ‘earned’ has gone into his acquisition - furnishing, and stocking of his property on Naboo.   
  
It started about 7 and a half years ago. A need to fulfill his promise to the one who’d forgotten him. A pathetic attempt at hoarding things like a dowry to present her when he’d finally be afforded the opportunity to lay himself at her feet again.  
  
He’d bought a couple of acres of land a few miles from the capital city. Land that’s nestled right beside a turquoise lake and edged by an ancient forest. He’s had the property built to include a two story dome house complete with three bedrooms, three bathrooms, a kitchen, a living, dining and family room. He’d even had it configured to include a sprawling wooden back deck that would look out over the lake. One bedroom was for them. The other for her parents. The last for their future child. All three bedrooms lined up against the back of the house to take advantage of the view. All bedrooms had floor to ceiling windows.  
  
He imagines waking up there, to that glorious view. Well, after he’d sate himself on the glorious view of Rey huddled under blankets, naked and glowing, her little warm body pressed close to his. Imagines kissing her forehead and watching a light fog swirl languidly across the placid turquoise waters.  
  
He’d had furniture delivered and set up. A grand four poster bed with matching nightstands and a dresser for theirs. A sleigh bed with a matching armoire for her parent’s bedroom. A crib and a small bed to tide their child over for at least a decade.  
  
He’d bought everything you could need over the years. Plates and cutlery, linens and bedding, decorative pieces he knew she’d love. He bought her dresses and plain clothes. Boots and ponchos. Sleepwear and swimwear. Even some maternity clothes when he’d pine (for the future he’d never have) extra hard. She was an immaterial doll, a phantom figure he’d dress in his daydreams.  
  
He’d bought farming equipment and planet hardy seed. Machinery to have the house run self sufficiently without the need to tap into the city’s mainframe. Sketch pads and pencils aplenty to keep her talent fed. He’s pretty sure Poe’s told him there’s a cupboard in the family room that’s full to the brim. It hasn’t stopped him from buying more though.  
  
He bought them a landspeeder to fit the whole family should they wish to go into town. Flowering seed to plant near the back deck so when they had their morning caf he could marvel at her beauty framed by roses, lilacs, the turquoise waters and the lush greens of the property.  
  
Fuck, one night, about a year ago he’d gotten drunk and woke up to a delivery of baby clothes. A plethora of onesies and burping cloths, swaddling blankets and a few rattles. One getup even said _storm pooper_. A callback to one night they’d blissfully cuddled on her sofa and watched an old movie named Star Wars. She’d liked it and laughed at these white clad officers who couldn’t hit a whale from a distance of 5 feet with their blasters.  
  
He’d quietly paid Poe double to deliver that one and tuck it into the third bedroom.  
  
He _should_ feel like an idiot investing everything he has into a life he’ll never get to live. But he doesn’t have it in him to regret a single purchase. Everything, _everything_ , including the ridiculous baby onesies, was worth it. Even if he never sees her again. Even if the only time he’ll be with her again is after they’re both gone. The house, _nay home_ , he’s built is an homage to their love. Even if it is one sided.   
  
He’s letting their pretend life play out on a distant planet with ghosts filling their intended roles. At least that’s something. There’s a way to pretend it’s real as he adds to his off world collection.  
  
Maybe one day in the distant future, a scavenger or adventurer will come across the house. Make their way into the rooms filled with the precious mementos of an unfulfilled life, covered in inches of dust and think - _there was love here once_.   
  
He comes up on an occupied consultation room. Strange, he thinks. Hardly anyone requests a consult these days.  
  
His heart stutters as he nears. An inhuman pull makes his steps falter, makes him almost trip over his own oversized feet. A pull he hasn’t felt in 8 years. A pull he yearns for every second of every minute of every hour of every day. It feels so _real_ , like she’s actually near him.  
  
His eyes trail down to read the screen.   
  
**𝜋𝜀𝛾-0000  
  
** Why that agent name makes his breath hitch, he doesn’t know. He wants to heed the call, give in and let his body move of its own accord. To knock and see who’s inside.  
  
 _Pi Epsilon Gamma_. It’s the way the symbols _look_ he chides himself. Idiot. Can’t even look at the likeness of her name without losing his shit and triggering a heartache.   
  
He shakes his head, presses his soulmate mark hard and rubbing it for a modicum of peace. Just to _feel_ like he’s got her with him as he tears himself away from the offending consultation room door. Feet continuing their trek through the bowels of the MedBay even if his heart is screaming for him to turn around.  
  
After a few more turns and he’s at the turbolift. The one that’ll take him up to the private medical floor reserved for high ranking officers and politicians. The one that has a secret access to the political offices of the station where his mother’s is nestled on the top floor.  
  
It’s a good route to know when you’re avoiding people like the plague. One he’d found rather quickly. The staff there doesn’t even harass him anymore. They know he’s headed to his mother’s office so they let him walk through quietly.   
  
At first they’d kicked up a shitstorm. Citing privacy policy and high level clearance authorization. But they quickly learned who he was and what his purpose had been. They settled into quietly letting him through, offering smiles and nods. Now they hardly even acknowledge his presence. Like he’s a ghost passing through unseen.  
  
That same apparition walks quietly through the grand halls into the senate offices. Walks to the end of the hall where the first set of guards halt him only briefly before they realize who he is. Through them and onto a second set just outside the turbolift that takes him to his mother’s office. Another set of guards just outside of her office door.  
  
The size of her security detail is mind boggling. He _still_ has trouble adjusting to it after all these years. Then again, there had been several attempts on her life. Even after Palpatine was arrested there were still sympathizers trying to undermine her term. Since they couldn’t oust her politically, they’d sometimes turn to drastic measures.   
  
It’s still so strange to pass through these checkpoints so heavily guarded. He remembers the day’s he’d ride his monochromatic tricycle, the one his dad had built with spare parts, through the halls of the political wing. Breezing into her office and holding up a squiggly doodle of some exotic planet his childish mind concocted. An adventure he wished he could have.  
  
The last set of guards stand still. He knows their helmets are pulling up his details. He hears their suits whirr quietly when realization dawns and they step aside.   
  
When the thick double doors swing open, he’s greeted by his mother’s stern faced glare. He knows she’s about to chastise him for being late but … fuck it.   
  
“I said 15 minutes Benjamin.”  
  
She’s standing behind her desk, the polished golden nameplate that’s decorative, really, gleams in the softened lights of her office. She’s rubbing her temple like he’s responsible for whatever headache she’s sporting today.  
  
He shrugs nonchalantly, thudding his boots against the polished imitation marble floors to take a seat across from her. _You want timely ... I want to go back down to Earth. I guess neither of us can get what we want.  
  
_ His mother glares daggers at him as she lowers herself back in her seat. Her hair gathered into her signature braid that spans the crown of her head. Heavy velvet robes engulf her small frame. Ornate jewels drape her wrists and neck. Nothing about her has changed over the years. Maybe a few more wrinkles and a few more gray hairs but she’s still the mother he knows, the comfortable scent he used to crave as a child. But none of the finery she’s swathed herself in can soften the hard look on her face. That _look_ she gives him when he's pushed her to the brink of her sanity.  
  
She’s waiting for him to speak first. A political move he thinks is unfair given she’s the one who called him here. Considering they’re _family_.   
  
He sighs, _fine_. She can have this one.  
  
“Dad sent another shuttle of cadets. Had to take the long way to avoid being swarmed.” It’s a noncommittal statement, betraying no signs of apology or the satisfaction he feels from sticking one to her.  
  
“You know he hasn’t told those stories lately, not since the last time you asked...” his mother stops, grasping the edge of her desk, leaning over it to eye him warily, “you have _time_ to stand at the arrivals gate but not to make a decision on the bioplastics purchase?”  
  
He shrugs again indifferently, casting his eyes across the room to avoid her fiery gaze. _You want cooperation, I want a shuttle to Earth. It’s really not rocket science Ma.  
  
_ She sights, slumping down to bury her face in her palms, “what am I going to do with you Benny,” she groans.   
  
“You know what I want,” he looks at his hand, pretending to find something of interest under his fingernails. “Did you want me to spell it out for you again?”  
  
His mother swats a hand through the air, the other still firmly pressed against half her face, “I know, I _know_. Earth.”  
  
“And yet I’m still shackled to this station…”  
  
His mother groans again loudly, “don’t you sass me Benjamin. I’m still your mother and I do what’s best for this family.”

  
  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

“You’ve been spotted at the outpost and we have intel that a bounty hunter is on the way. Ben, we’re going to be sending a shuttle to collect you soon.”  
  
His mother’s words are like the cold vacuum of space. Congealing the blood in his veins and turning it to thick, unmovable ice. How could he have been prepared for this? Yesterday his mother told him he’d need to come home and that they’d need to talk more about that arrangement. Today she’s telling him the countdown is on and his time on Earth has been shortened dramatically.   
  
“I need to bring someone with me.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence before he hears his mother’s voice, “the girl.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement.  
  
Ben looks at his uncle who has the good sense to look away in shame. So they’ve been talking behind his back. Great.  
  
“Yes,” he concedes.  
  
“How much does she know, Ben?”  
  
“Nothing,” he lies smoothly.  
  
More silence. Long and uncomfortable. “Well it might come as a bit of a shock if you spring this all on her now.”  
  
He considers, “she already calls me Ben. I told her it was my middle name so at least that’s something.”  
  
His mother sighs on the line. It’s harsh, like a forced breath. “Are you _sure_ that’s all you told her?”  
  
“Yes. Other than that she thinks my name is Kylo _Ben_ Ren. That I’m from Coruscant and that I’m here to visit family for the summer, like you said.” He hates this. Hates that he’s had to keep up this lie. Hates that he hasn’t been able to be honest with her. He can only hope she’ll forgive him when he tells her everything on the way up to H.O.M.E.  
  
“Good. It’s safer that way.”  
  
 _For who_? He wants to ask.  
  
Owen chooses this moment to _attempt_ lending a helpful hand. “We can talk to her family tomorrow.”  
  
“Tomorrow?” his mother asks.  
  
“Well,” Ben tries to think if it’s possible to explain everything to Mr. and Mrs. Niima and convince them to let their daughter leave just before the harvest on such short notice. “They’ve got the harvest coming up,” he starts, Owen nodding thoughtfully beside him, “and they’ll need to pack her things. Probably have some questions about communications. Visiting. That kind of stuff.”  
  
“How long do you think you’ll need?”  
  
Ben looks at his uncle who shrugs. For a man who’s been so steadfast in the few months Ben’s known him, he’s surely out of his waters here. There’s no help to be found in the man’s face. Support, _maybe_.  
  
“A couple of days?”  
  
“A couple of days…”  
  
Silence.  
  
“And you would be opposed to leaving her behind and collecting her later?” his mother asks like she’s testing a theory. Like Rey is some kind of unscheduled delivery that needs to be added to the receiving dock’s roster.  
  
“Absolutely,” he huffs our indignantly, “I can’t leave without her.”  
  
“Even if it’s for your own safety.”  
  
He waits a moment to answer. Because it would be uncouth for him to just blurt it out. Controlling his voice to the best of his ability, he finally answers, as confidently as he can. “Yes.”  
  
He hears his mother sigh again heavily. This time it’s not in frustration but reluctance, he thinks. Hears some background noise he can’t make out. It sounds like the scraping of graphene armour and maybe the hiss of a shuttle ramp.   
  
“Alright, I promise I’ll see what I can do. I’ll talk to intel about how much time I can buy you.”  
  
The comm disconnects and Owen pats him on the shoulder. His uncle may be saying words but he can’t hear anything over the blood pounding in his ears. His skin is prickling with anticipation. He’s antsy because of how quickly this is spiraling out of his control.  
  
He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t ask questions or say good night. He aims to relieve the itch in his veins by walking straight to his dome. To get somewhere he can be alone to untangle his emotions and draft up a plan.  
  
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’ll tell her everything and they’ll get things moving.   
  
When he enters his guest dome he’s of half a mind to comm her and tell her everything immediately. Set his mind at ease and come up with a plan together. Until he sees the paired comm sitting idly on the nightstand that is. They must have forgotten it in the haste to get out this morning.   
  
He finds himself deflating. The idea of talking to her now, at the very least hearing her melodious voice, is temporarily out of reach. His legs feel restless? On the precipice of exploding into a full sprint, feet pumping down the dirt road to where he needs to be. He could manage it too. Run at top speed for 30 minutes until the Niima farmhouse comes into view.  
  
Would they think it strange of him to show up so late at night? Is she sleeping? Would he be waking her?  
  
Sleep.   
  
He can do that. It’s the only sensible thing to do now, rest up and face tomorrow. When he’ll lay it all on the line for her.

  
  


…

  
  


He’s startled awake by the crashing of his door. There’s shouting and a muddled blend of voices, the sounds of heavy boots against the earth outside his dome and the concrete floors within. It’s pitch black in the dome aside from the bright light from an agent’s GxSuit helmet.   
  
_What the fuck?_  
  
Ben startles into a sitting position, sheets pooling around his waist as he attempts to get his bearings. Rubs crud out of his bleary eyes and tries to focus.  
  
He looks at the alarm clock Beru had placed on his nightstand all those months ago. It’s 0300 in the morning. The middle of the fucking night and there’s an imperial agent here for what reason exactly?  
  
It doesn’t dawn on him that he’s only in his boxers and his vision is barely clearing the last remnants of sleepy fog. Or that Owen and Jacen are standing in the doorway behind the agent in their night clothes. Only that there’s the slow fade of the dream he was immersed in, dumping him into some icy reality.  
  
“Benjamin Solo?” the metallic voice asks, the flashlight pointing directly at his face. It makes his eyes hurt. A contrast from the darkness so harsh he has to shield his eyes.   
  
“Yeah,” he croaks sleepily. He reaches for the light on the nightstand to hit the switch. Bathing the dome in the warm glow of the little lamp and helping him adjust to the scene. Outside he sees the low floodlights of a shuttle. Sees 7 other agents in full armour milling about. Instructions are shouted and he sees their hand signals as they secure the perimeter.   
  
_Oh no_.  
  
“We’re here to bring you back to the station on strict orders.”  
  
“No. No no no no _no_ ,” he snarls. She fucking _promised_. She didn’t even give him 24 hours. This is _not_ happening.  
  
“Ben,” his uncle steps forward, “we have reports a bounty hunter has arrived at Niima and is asking questions about you. You _have_ to go.”  
  
How did this happen?   
  
Less than 24 hours ago he was happily buried in her tight heat feeling her fall apart around him, sending him spiraling into ecstasy. Her soft warm skin promising a lifetime of happiness and love.   
  
Less than 12 hours ago he was kissing his beautiful soulmate while they were making plans on how to break the news to her parents while digging in the soil side by side. Giggling about how much it would cost to hire help for the harvest so she could join him. He’d teetered on the brink of telling her the whole truth but reasoned it would be better to have a thorough conversation with his mother first.  
  
“What about Rey?” It’s all he can choke out while his chest constricts. While the beautiful life he’s been living crumbles under his feet.  
  
She doesn’t even know the truth. Doesn’t even know where he’s going. How will he talk to her?  
  
Mere hours ago he was certain he had her at his side. Their future together solid and clear. Now it was being ripped from him. Like a knitted wound being torn open. Panic begins rising, uncertainty clouding his thoughts which are racing at light speed.  
  
“The paired comm,” his uncle gestures, “leave it. We’ll get it to her.”  
  
Ok. That’s … acceptable?  
  
“I … I can’t leave her,” his voice warbles. Because it’s not enough. Acceptable? Yes. Enough? Fuck no. He needs to be _certain.  
  
_ “Sir? If you don’t come willingly we’ll have to resort to other measures. The orders were explicit. Extract Benjamin Solo.”  
  
Does his mother really intend to knock him out? What are his options right now?  
  
His heart beats double time. His stomach constricts and his throat goes bone dry. He can feel it prune, feel it reject the pathetic attempt at swallowing down the tension. The heaviness that’s settled in his chest threatens to crumple him like a stone squashing a bug.  
  
His legs itch, he wants to run. Run barefoot and in his boxers all the miles straight to Rey. To gather her in his arms and tell her everything. To hide from his family there and never surface again. To stay in the confines of her arms until this shitstorm passes and they can be together freely.  
  
They can’t take him away from her. Not now that he’s tasted her. Felt her. Not when they’re bonded. Not when they’ve begun depending on each other’s presence so much. Even if it’s one sided, which he knows isn’t the case, he can’t. Absolutely _cannot_ breathe without her.  
  
“That won’t be necessary,” his uncle places a hand on the agent’s shoulder, “let me show you around the compound so you can position your agents. Ben is going to prepare for takeoff.”  
  
The look his uncle gives him tells him everything he needs to know. There’s _nothing_ that can be done to stall. The most he can offer is these few minutes of privacy to get his affairs in order before he has to go. He can kick, scream, fight … but they’ll take him because those are their orders. _Explicit_ orders.  
  
He has two choices. Try to fight and leave with nothing, or get his shit together and make sure he gets back to Rey.  
  
The latter sounds best. Though he calculates what the probability of slipping out undetected would be. It’s slim with the agents and their stupid super suits.  
  
Jacen sets to work helping him quietly. He too is bleary eyed and freshly woken, though he seems less unmoored than Ben. Then again, this is merely an inconvenience in Jacen’s night, not a life shattering moment.   
  
His cousin produces his knapsack and camera from the closet, pulling clothes out for him. He does all this quietly, shuffling across the concrete floor efficiently. Stacking the few items he’s arrived with neatly on the bed to be packed.  
  
Ben’s frozen in the middle of the dome, unable to comprehend that this is all happening. Debating pinching himself because … this is a dream right?   
  
Jacen throws a shirt and jeans at him. “Hurry up,” he grumbles, like he’s dutifully taking care of this quick road bump so he can get back to bed. He can’t blame him. He too wants to snuggle under his sheets. Preferably with Rey.  
  
 _Rey_. His eyes fall on the paired comm.  
  
“Hey Jace?” He has an idea, but needs to use his time wisely so he can do it right. Packing is _not_ a wise use of time right now. “Mind finishing for me? I want to write Rey a note.”  
  
“Yeah no problem,” Jacen busies himself with cramming the fabric of his now worn clothes into his knapsack. Not like he’s come with a lot but seeing the little he has fit so easily in the bag tugs at his heart strings. The last 4 months have felt like a lifetime so how could he have so little to show for it?   
  
“Hey you okay?”  
  
Ben looks up at his cousin as he pulls the shirt over his head. The eyes that meet him are equal parts tired and confused. Probably quite similar to Ben’s own with the exception of the sheer terror he’s fighting to keep at bay.  
  
He rifles through the drawers for a piece of paper and a pen, kneeling by the nightstand awkwardly while pouring every word he hadn’t been able to utter onto the paper. His usual meticulous penmanship thrown to the wind in favour of speed. Sloppy letters drawn by a choppy pen furiously scratching across the sheet, filling it quickly.  
  
Everything he’s ever felt, ever wanted to say bursts out of him. Trips over itself in an effort to make it onto the page. Declarations of truths and pleas of forgiveness. Promises of a return and a bright future.  
  
He looks over the tightly squeezed text, the compressed letters, the scratched out words, and the little bit of space left at the bottom then up at Jacen who’s finished packing and is standing guard at the door.  
  
With one final push of bravery, he scrawls: _I’ll come back for you sweetheart, I promise. Love, Ben Solo.  
  
_ He folds his letter tightly, into a rudimentary square and presses it against his lips. Pressing all his love into the little piece of paper that sums up everything he hadn’t been allowed to tell her. With his other hand he collects the paired comm and holds the two items out to his cousin. Fingers shaking.  
  
“Give these to her, please?”  
  
Jacen nods, taking the items and pocketing them. He pats the pocket giving Ben a small smile.  
  
The understanding between them is implied. Thank goodness. At least he can leave knowing by tomorrow she’ll know everything. By tomorrow he’ll get to at least hear her voice and apologize over comm. Then they can start planning in earnest.  
  
The rest is really a blur. Jacen confirming he’ll give the letter to Rey again. His aunt and uncle bidding him goodbye, a single agent whisking him into the shuttle and the rest remaining at the compound.  
  
As the shuttle takes off he watches the landscape unfurl through the tiny porthole window. Sees the Niima stead come into view once they clear the height of the cornfields. Sees the little attic window is dark where his beautiful soulmate is dreaming, her face scrunched and mouth slightly parted as she sleeps peacefully.   
  
Watches the house grow smaller and smaller until it’s a speck. Until it’s not visible anymore. Beyond, in the distance he can see the trees surrounding the shed by the creek. Further, the edge of the field he’d first kissed her in. An endless desert stretching out beyond those little captured moments in time.  
  
With every mile the shuttle puts between him and the earth beneath he feels a deepening sense of doom. One he can’t place, doesn’t understand _why_.  
  
He’s got assurance she’ll get the comm and his letter. He _knows_ he’ll see her again. He’s not leaving under ideal circumstances but he knows it’s not the end.  
  
And yet his stomach can’t stop lurching. His heart pounds against his ribs, screaming for him to jump out of the shuttle and get back to Rey. A great maw opening within the cavity of his chest threatening to swallow him whole.  
  
He’s about to protest. About to unclip the anti-grav restraints and hammer on the cockpit door to turn around when he’s pulled back into his seat. Dragged into the cushy confines by the sheer force of the shuttle’s propulsion. The roar outside is deafening as the pilot engages the thrusters.  
  
Before he has a chance to adjust, he feels himself go weightless. His stomach heaves, throat clamping tight and little black spots dance across his vision as he tries to hold back the rising bile.  
  
That’s the last thing he remembers before he blacks out.  
  
When he wakes up he’s in his quarters at H.O.M.E.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Well? Did you call me to argue then?” his glare bores into her. Moments like these she’s not his mother but his mortal enemy. The gatekeeper barring his entry to paradise. She’s not the beloved senator that’s working on bringing prosperity to the station or the colonies it feeds. She’s his prison warden.  
  
His mother sighs, swiping her hand across her face roughly. Like she’s trying to wipe away whatever frustration is painting her features physically. A gesture he’s mildly aware he himself employs quite regularly.   
  
“I called you here about a mission,” her eyes finally drift up to meet his. She looks exhausted and at the end of her rope. _Good_. Maybe now she’ll know how he’s felt for the last 3,000 days or so. But who’s counting.  
  
“And I hope you know unless it’s about going down to Earth, I’m not interested.”  
  
Why do they have to keep playing this game? He feels like a broken holo repeating himself day in and day out. Over and over.   
  
Earth. Earth. Earth. Earth. _Earth.  
  
_ And she? Bioplastics purchases. Mess hall upgrades. Rations orders. Colony tax adjustments. Senate meetings. Elections campaigns.   
  
At least she’s given up on trying to get him to date. Those were some of the lowest moments in his life. The first few were benign. Vanilla really. He didn’t even know what the women were doing. Until he realized what the shtick was. They weren’t looking to just have a cup of caf and chat, they were fishing for dinners and hand holding. The last one was so aggressive, crowded his space so wholly in an attempt to kiss him, he’d become physically ill, pushing the woman aside roughly to hurl into the nearest garbage chute.  
  
 _They’re very good matches_ , his mother had told him when he’d exploded about the setups, _would make wonderful wives. Don’t you want that?_ He shudders remembering his returning words. How cold their relationship had turned since then.  
  
 _I_ had _someone. But you stole her from me. Steal her from me_ every day _. I fucking_ hate _you_.  
  
“Ben … there was a cell of insurgents on Earth. They called themselves the First Order. They’ve been active on and off since Palpatine was arrested. The last time they reared their heads was 3 years ago when they released a mutated virus causing fatal pneumonia. After that, they went black. Intel uncovered their base last month and our agents have been clearing it out over the last few weeks. Did you know about this?”  
  
He schools his expression. “No,” he answers calmly, though his heart is racing. Is she okay? Did they hurt her? Was this cell anywhere near Niima outpost?  
  
“We’ve been hunting them for _years_. They’re violent and unstable. Well … _were_. That’s taken care of now.”  
  
What is the point of this monologue? Does she want him to go down to intel and hand out medals? Because he’s done that once and ruined the whole experience for the recipients. Not like he hadn’t warned her. His foul mood doesn’t just magically disappear because she says he’s got ‘duties’. In fact, his mother knows exactly how to remedy the problem but isn’t…  
  
She claps her hands in front of her, puffing out her chest, “so in light of _that_ wonderful news. I have some good news for _you_.” Her eyes turn soft, a gentle smile on her lips. A motherly smile. One he hasn’t seen since … well, since he was a kid.  
  
“I’ve hired a shuttle to take you down to Earth tomorrow.”  
  
 _What_?  
  
All at once his heart rate has doubled, blood rushes to his ears, his hands turn clammy and his throat goes dry. He can’t hear, he can barely see. Spots cloud his vision and he’s pretty sure he’s about to faint because did he just hear that right?  
  
The only outward reaction he has is a series of rapid, confused blinks. Mostly because he’s trying to clear his vision.   
  
He’s imagining things. He must be. It’s because he hadn’t had time to snap out of his daydreams, he reasons. Is still in a too-small bed in a rickety farm house in a still too-hot attic interlacing his fingers with Rey. A daydream bleeding into the present, whispering things he wants to hear. His mind is fucking with him.   
  
With shaky fingers he moves to twist the ring, looping it round and round in a soothing motion. In an attempt to calm his racing thoughts. Gulping down a mouthful of air just to make sure his throat hasn’t closed completely.  
  
“Benny? You okay?”  
  
He shakes his head. Willing the voice in his head to stop repeating _take you down to Earth tomorrow. Earth. Tomorrow._ It’s a chant echoing in the cavity of his skull, hypnotic and overwhelming.   
  
“I’m sorry, I mustn’t be feeling well. C-could you repeat that?”   
  
“Tomorrow, Ben. Tomorrow you can go down to Earth.”  
  
How the fuck did this happen? For 8 years he’s thrown all his weight against the proverbial walls of the prison his mother’s put him in under the guise of ‘safety’. 8 long years without Rey. 2,839 days (fine he’d been counting) of hoping and wishing and dreaming and missing.   
  
He’d imagined what it would be like to win the battle. To finally break free of his restraints. To finally be allowed to follow his heart and seek her out.   
  
Every fantasy he’d had always built to this moment slowly. He’d wear down his mother’s defenses day by day until she relented. They’d plan it meticulously. She’d give him access to the intel team so he could find her and drop in at just the right moment. Swoop down in some grand gesture with flowers and food and a real ring and drop to his knees to beg forgiveness.   
  
In no dream did he imagine his wishes would come to fruition overnight. Like flipping a light switch. Today there’s no Rey, tomorrow there’s Rey. Light off, light on. This revelation is so jarring it’s almost blinding. Giving him emotional whiplash.  
  
He’d been so consumed with the fantasy of _getting_ to Earth he’s at an absolute loss for words. What would he say? How would he approach her? How hard could he grovel? Ideally he’d like to have used intel to time his visit for when her husband wasn’t home so he could spare himself the pang of jealousy.   
  
“Tomorrow,” he parrots his mother, his voice cracking over the first syllable. Tears well in his eyes and he lets out a stuttered breath meeting his mother’s gaze.  
  
“Yes, tomorrow.”  
  
The air goes absolutely still. He can hear his own heavy breaths, can feel his chest expand and contract against his tunic. The quiet creaking of his mother’s chair as she shifts ever so slightly. The metallic clicking and groaning of the station. The eerie humming of the lights. There’s so much noise when there aren’t words to be said.  
  
He’s acutely aware there’s a tear running down his cheek. That his chin is quivering. That he may or may not be sniffling.  
  
“I’m sorry it took so long, Ben,” his mother’s hand reaches across her desk, beckoning to take his hand. He obliges out of duty, feeling her small, warm fingers clasp his. She squeezes gently in a silent apology. “Whoever she is …”  
  
“She’s probably forgotten me by now,” he interrupts bitterly. Eyes dropping to their joined hands. Seething anger bubbling beneath the surface.   
  
It feels like such a natural ebb in his emotions. To go from hopeless and forlorn, to shocked and hopeful, to sad and angry. The emotional swing flowing into a torrent of the one emotion he can control and wield. Maybe he’s angry because it’s the easiest emotion to latch onto. The easiest one to make sense of and function under its influence.  
  
His mother squeezes his fingers again, her thumb grazing the ring. That’s when he snaps, pulling his hand away and glaring at her angrily.  
  
“Ben…” she tries to soothe gently, “I’m sure she hasn’t. How could she? You’re such a wonderful boy.”  
  
He scoffs loudly. Hands balling into fists at his sides as he gets up. “Yes she has. I …”  
  
 _I what? I left her a paired comm that she’s never used? I don’t deserve her and she knows it? I just needed one more day to set things right and you stole that from me after you’d promised?  
  
_ “I just _know_. For a while it was about finding her again. Now it’s just …” his eyes drift down to his clenched fists unbidden, body shaking trying to contain the anger and sadness, “about saying goodbye.”  
  
“Don’t be ridiculous. If she’s as head over heels as you clearly are, she’s waited.”  
  
Oh _fuck off_ with that high and mighty bullshit. His fists connect with her desk, shaking the structure, denting the soft polymer like it’s no harder than butter. “ _8 years Ma._ Eight. Fucking. Years. _Nobody_ waits that long.”  
  
“You’re being dramatic, Benjamin,” she doesn’t miss a beat. Dismissing his outburst _just_ like when he was an unruly child. Belittling his wants and downplaying his needs.   
  
“Is that so? And how would _you_ know?”  
  
“Your father and I see each other…”  
  
“You’re _married_ ,” he interrupts explosively, “you _already_ built a life by the time you settled into this…” his hands wave about him frantically, like he’s trying to convey their separation was chosen. “What we had was…” he pauses to think. To make sense of the swirling black cloud of his emotions. What did they have?  
  
“Fragile. It was new and it was beautiful and it was fragile.”  
  
Silence fills the air as mother and son size each other up.  
  
“Listen, Ben. You can wax poetic all you want. It wasn’t safe then. It _is_ now. Did you want me to release the shuttle? I can definitely find better use of our resources than to reserve it for you to chase a pipe dream.”  
  
His fists connect with the desk once more, this time he stands up to walk away. Fuck this conversation. Fuck this pity mission. “She’s _not_ a pipe dream!”  
  
 _She’s everything_.  
  
“Ben,” his mother raises her hand. She too is wound up and panting heavily. “Stop. Just … _stop_. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Can we reset?”  
  
If life could get worse, it decided that particular moment to throw yet another wrench in his already miserable existence. The door to her office whirrs open and Ben comes face to face with his uncle.  
  
“Ben, so glad to see you,” his uncle strides forward happily and pats him on the shoulder.   
  
It takes Luke all of 5 seconds before he realizes what’s just transpired.  
  
“Aah, interrupting an argument?”  
  
 _What the fuck is his game?_ He just walks in all sunshine and roses like he’s just gotten promoted to Chief Medical Officer. And to add insult to injury he’s clearly ignoring the tension in the room in lieu of carrying on in whatever demented mood he’s found himself in.  
  
“I was just telling Benny here I’ve organized a shuttle to take him to Earth tomorrow.”  
  
His uncle stops dead in his tracks. The trajectory of which, Ben can only guess, was to plant himself in the seat Ben had just vacated across his mother. To probably do that twin banter they do where half the words aren’t even spoken, communicated telepathically or some shit.   
  
“That so?” Luke’s eyebrows are raised and he pads back to Ben to hug him. A fucking hug. Yeah, he needs to get out of here before these two give him an aneurysm. If he had one he’s sure his uncle would finish the job instead of saving him.  
  
Luke pulls away awkwardly but not before grasping his left hand. The hand that he’s held so many times when they’d sit together talking about Rey. Ben _wants_ to flinch, wants to pull away and walk the fuck out of his mother’s office but there’s something in his uncle’s eyes.  
  
He can’t help but soften. This man has let him cry openly. Let him blubber and sob like a toddler. Has dug into the archives and procured sealed documents for them to research. These 8 long years, Luke had been by his side. Comforting him. Imparting soulmate wisdom. Stroking the little sliver of hope he harboured and never letting him give up. If Ben was a fire, Luke was his watchful keeper. Never letting the light and warmth snuff out.  
  
He’s the only one he’s given her name to. The only one who’d truly listened and deserved to hear that short little combination of letters that’s been tattooed onto his heart so long ago.  
  
So it’s strange when he feels his uncle’s cold prosthetic hand turn his middle finger to expose the mark. Strange that he runs his thumb over it gently, huffing out a victorious laugh. Stranger still when his uncle’s eyes meet his with a twinkle.  
  
“Well then, you’d better get to bed, Ben. Sounds like tomorrow is an important day.”  
  
He nods at his uncle, unsure what to make of the statement. Ready to turn away and walk out of the office. Ready to get lost in the maze of hallways on the way to his quarters, try to clear his mind and make sense of what the next 24 hours will bring. How he’ll _finally_ approach her.  
  
Ever so quietly, just as he’s turning, at a tone too low for his mother to catch, his uncle whispers adding the slightest wink at the end of the strangest sentence, “I can’t wait to meet her.”  
  
And doesn’t his heart stutter and hope bloom in his chest. Just a few words stroking the glowing embers, reigniting the fiery resolve he’s never truly lost.  
  
“Ben?” his mother’s voice, calmer now, beckons him to turn around just as he’s reaching for the door panel. “Send me the coordinates so I can organize with the mission crew?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
As he walks out of the doors and past the guards, he can hear his uncle’s voice clearly before the doors whirr shut.  
  
“So, do you have a crew in mind? I have a recommendation and it would be remiss of you to pass up.” 

  
  



	13. 8 Years in Passing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The pilot is Poe Dameron. This must have been the same mission the cadets had overheard on their way up to the station yesterday. He’s just as handsome as she remembers. Just as cocksure too._
> 
> _Finn and another agent by codename psi delta rho. They’re wearing their full GxSuits and helmets as mandated for missions so she can’t see the other agent. Based on the missions flashing across her visor, he’s definitely older and definitely more seasoned. Probably better suited to be the lead but who is she to look a gift horse in the mouth._
> 
> _The pilot ‘just call me Poe, Dameron is my father’ gave them a rudimentary briefing on the mission. Nothing she didn’t already know from her meeting with the senator. Security detail for one Benjamin Organa-Solo. Destinations unknown. Perimeter to be determined. Mission length unknown. Arrival point 4 miles outside of Niima outpost._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another monster comin' atcha

The air in the turbolift has more of a metallic tang than in the rest of the station. Must be the tight space, she reasons. Though the other lifts she’s taken don’t smell quite as strongly. Perhaps there’s a welding project nearby.  
  
She shifts her weight onto her opposite hip, mindful to keep the movement controlled and slow. If she’s too jerky she might find herself with a blaster hole in her head.  
  
Two fully armed, suited and intimidating guards stand behind her. Their suits are identical to hers with the exception of red pauldrons on their shoulders to signify their assignment as imperial guards. That and the drawn blasters loosely dangling in their gloved hands. They’re her escort up to her destination. Her mind still can’t fathom just what, exactly, she’s doing wherever the hell she is. Why she’s in the senate wing on her first day or whom she’s meeting for her first assignment that’s so heavily guarded.  
  
When she woke up at 0530 she’d felt rather refreshed. Maybe it was the way Dr. Skywalker had stroked her mark. Maybe it was the promise that today she had something to look forward to, namely resolution. Whatever it was it had helped her sleep better than she had in years. She even felt his mien here. Kylo’s. Just the lightest trace but palpable in the air like he’d just walked by. It was (and still is) both comforting and disconcerting. It was nice to not feel completely empty, but the knowledge he wasn’t actually there crushed the comfort instantly. She’d spent the entirety of her morning letting these two emotions ebb and flow like the tide.  
  
She’d showered and dressed, found AM-12 on the station map and headed out without so much as a stuttered breath. Arrived early only to line up with the rest of the unmasked, uniformed, newly minted agents she’d arrived with yesterday.   
  
Admiral Ackbar waited until precisely 0600 and doled out their assignments promptly. One by one her former fellow cadets received little chips to be inserted into their HoloPads with their assignments.  
  
One by one, they saluted their thank you to the Admiral and shuffled to the buffet to pile on the delicious smelling breakfast foods.  
  
Then there was no one. She was left standing alone where once she was surrounded by a line of cadets with rejection coiling tightly in her stomach. They’d found her out. Found she was weak. The Admiral was probably coming to send her packing. Dismiss her from service and send her back to Earth. That’s why she was the only agent without a chip. The last one standing. A reject.  
  
Instead, he held out a folder for her. Black and made of thick paper stock. A relic in the times of data chips and holotransfers. It was beautiful and heavy, the pebbled texture a novelty in her callused fingers.   
  
“It was handed to me only an hour ago,” he stated simply before dismissing her. She’d held it dumbstruck for a few moments before her stomach chimed in, reminding her there’s sustenance to be had. Confusion could wait. There was free food nearby. So with a plate full of egg substitute, whole grain toast, sliced apple and a glass of vita-C, she sat at a table tucked into the far corner replaying her conversation with Dr. Skywalker.   
  
Was the uncle he referred to Owen? How common is that last name anyway? If they were related, how come he didn’t know Kylo? Then again, maybe Kylo wasn’t his real name. A possibility she’d established long ago that still sends a pang through her chest. But then, if Owen was Dr. Skywalker’s uncle _and_ Kylo’s uncle, how on Earth ...  
  
“Mind if I join you?” Finn stood across from her, holding his tray like an expectant child and giving her those pleading eyes.  
  
Nothing new she supposed, though she’d prefer to go without his chatter for once in her life. Then again … soon enough. She nodded her assent and continued stabbing at the overcooked clumps of rubbery egg substitute, shoving them in her mouth inelegantly.  
  
“I was assigned to sanitation,” he grumbled while he looped his spoon around his oatmeal bowl. The movement wasn’t one she’d employ. It was reminiscent of playing with food rather than cooling it for consumption. A pity, if she has any room after her mountain of egg substitute she might head back for a helping of the oatmeal.  
  
“New code name is xi iota eta,” he said, pushing his HoloPad at her. The code **ξ** **ιη-0000** on the screen with his standard cadet headshot and **Sanitation** listed below it.   
  
“What’s yours? That looks unusual?”  
  
Her eyes shifted from his HoloPad to the folder blending into the table beside her, realization dawning that she hadn’t actually opened it to see her assignment. _Shit_ , what if she was needed right that instant?  
  
She opened her assignment folder with Finn, who, for his part pretended to be enthralled though she could feel his disappointment at his own assignment. Inside lay only a single printed sheet: 

**0800  
** **S1001 - Senate Wing  
** **Clearance Code: XM951-A**

A little fob slipped out with the sheet. Probably some kind of clearance device. At least that’s her best guess since It didn’t match the ports on HoloPads.  
  
Finn whistles loudly, brows raised. Mirroring her surprise.  
  
“Looks very important.”  
  
And that’s how she finds herself trying to keep her heart rate steady without the help of her GxSuit, standing in an elevator with two very menacing guards and a belly full of food. Oatmeal included because … free food. The caf she had wasn’t a good idea though, setting her nerves on edge and making her fidgety. A dangerous state when you’ve got two trained guards ready to blow your head off.  
  
The lift slows, halts. Doors whirring open silently to a small hall with an impressively vaulted ceiling. The small space crowded with 4 more guards. Behind them two solid oak doors. Palatial in size and ornately etched. The air smells faintly of roses. A welcome reprieve of the metallic stench she’s been assaulted with every moment she spent at the station.  
  
It’s the fanciest place she’s seen at H.O.M.E. The prestige of just the doors far beyond her station.  
  
It makes her feel small. It makes her feel insignificant. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS IN PASSING**

She woke with the rising sun. Its warm fingers extending into her attic bedroom and bathing it with its hazy morning light.  
  
Today is going to be special. Ben had his call with his mother and she is dying to know how it went. What was said. How they’d move beyond their little corner of the world and into their future.  
  
Teetering on the precipice of her new life, she pulled on her matted work clothes and brushed her teeth, beating her parents to the kitchen and starting the water for caf. Body fueled by anticipation.  
  
But breakfast came and went. Ben didn’t show.

  
  
  
  


He must have stayed up late hashing out details with his mother. She tells herself this while she starts on the irrigation system. They’ll have a lot to talk about so it’s best she handles as much of their work as possible to buy them all the time they need. The mantra repeats inside her head as she walks up and down the rows of corn.  
  
Time ticks by. The irrigation system is _fine_.  
  
No Ben.

  
  
  
  


High noon arrives, the sun beat on her head, overheating her exposed skin and making her clothes cling to her sweaty body. She heads to her father’s combine to tighten any loose bolts and make sure the reel’s repulsorlift is in tip-top shape for the upcoming harvest.  
  
Time ticks by. The combine is _fine_.  
  
No Ben.

  
  
  
  


Her hands are wedged inside the combine’s hydraulic rams. Lubricating the pistons manually with a vat of synthetic oil. The machine itself is a hybrid. An old model that’s been refitted with a repulsorlift. So it’s a little more efficient than it was originally designed to be, but it still uses remnants of ancient technology to accomplish the task. One day, she’d like to save enough money to buy her father a proper one. A _new_ one.   
  
She wishes she had the paired comm. Wishes she’d had the foresight to grab it from the nightstand. At least if she could comm him things wouldn’t feel so … awful. It’s already so late she’s starting to worry. The little knot in her stomach that had formed when he didn’t show for breakfast coiling tighter and tighter as the day progresses. As the sun’s rays continue to filter into the open barn, suffocating the air.  
  
It feels like an undigested clump that has congealed, settling heavily in her gut. Filling it and pushing against the lining of her stomach making her nauseous. So heavy she feels like she is sinking. It comes accompanied by thick pulses of blood rushing through her veins, shaky fingers and stuttered heartbeats. Something feels _wrong_ .  
  
She pushes it out of her head. Everything is _fine.  
  
_ Time ticks by. There’s no Ben.

  
  
  
  


By 0200 she’s finished everything that needed to be done, so she follows her instincts and walks to the Skywalker stead. She alternates between jogging and walking to speed up the process, fighting the knot in her stomach with every step.  
  
The minute the Skywalker property comes into view, she immediately works out the reason for the knot - dread. The property is largely unchanged but for the 7 gleaming black and polished chrome suits guarding the compound. Figures she’d only seen on public broadcasts from H.O.M.E station. Agents, they’re called and they only show up in times of crisis or need.  
  
Two approach when she draws near, weapons pointed but she barely notices them. Her eyes are fixed on the speeder still parked beside Ben’s guest dome. Where he must be hiding. Maybe his mother had asked him to start packing.   
  
“Halt, state your name and business.”  
  
“R-Rey, sir. I’m here to see K-Kylo,” she manages to stutter with two blasters pointed at her.  
  
There is the sound of static while they seem to communicate wordlessly before a heavy silence falls. Only the sound of the breeze rustling the corn stalks and the whirring of their fancy armoured suits. Then the door swings open.   
  
Beru comes running, patting an agent on the shoulder. Vouching for her before whisking her inside where Jacen is sitting at the table. They both looked distraught but Rey doesn't ask. There is really only one question she has.  
  
“There’s been some trouble nearby. We hired security to get us through the harvest,” Beru offers while turning to wipe down an already gleaming dutch oven. It doesn't escape her that the words feel forced, though, or that their behaviour is strangely disconnected.  
  
Too shocked to find her voice, she finds herself staring dumbly at Beru, Jacen’s gaze fixed on the table. A heavy silence hangs in the air, making all present uncomfortable. When Beru finally turns around, her expression tells Rey everything she needs to know.  
  
It's empathetic, with a hint of sad affection she recognizes from when her own mother gives her bad news. _Ben_.  
  
Her voice warbles and her knees shake but she manages to croak out the only word, nay, _name_ bouncing around in the cavity of her skull, “Ben?”  
  
Beru’s lips press into a tight line, creasing into a sorry frown. It doesn’t register that there’s no need to clarify just _who_ Ben is, even though they’ve all insisted on calling him Kylo. Like they too know him by his middle name. Like they’d all shifted into using it but hadn’t gotten around to agreeing on doing so openly.  
  
“I’ll fill her in,” Jacen interrupts, sliding out of his chair and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. It feels wrong. The weight of her childhood friend’s hand feels about as heavy as the earth that envelops a casket. The weight of it so real it snaps the surreal landscape she’s found herself into crystal clear definition. This isn't a dream. It _is_ real. _Ben_.  
  
Beru nods once at her son before turning her back, hunching over the sink and grasping the ceramic lip tightly. Jacen guides her out of the home and towards Ben’s guest dome. The trek is as quiet as it is short. Questions swirl in her mind but none are voiced. Maybe Ben is sick and they don't know what to do. His city life hadn’t prepared him for manual labour or long hours outdoors. Maybe he’d caught a bug or was sunstroked. She’d seen him struggle with sunburns and sore muscles, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him.  
  
Quietly Jacen opens the door to the dome to show it stands empty. No haphazardly thrown towels, no camera or HoloPad on the table, no rumpled sheets. Empty. Like no one’s been there. _Ben’s gone_.  
  
“He left overnight,” Jacen’s voice echoes through the space, highlighting just how empty it is.  
  
“I-I don’t … that’s impossible,” is all she can squeeze out, settling into a rickety chair by the table. Support for her failing muscles.  
  
“That’s when he’d organized the pickup,” Jacen adds, stuffing his hands in his pocket and shrugging. “I don’t know what to tell you.”  
  
It can’t … It doesn’t … it couldn’t … _he wouldn’t_.  
  
“Did- did he s-say anything?” she asks flabbergasted. Eyes wide in disbelief.  
  
Jacen shifts uncomfortably. His gangly body swaying from one foot to the other like this conversation is the bane of his existence. Eyes trained to the floor and brows furrowed.  
  
“Just … to tell you goodbye.”  
  
 _No_. Impossible. That’s not Ben. It’s not. _It’s not_.  
  
“That’s all he said?” she asks, skepticism lacing her words.  
  
Her world is spinning on its axis. Like the dreidel her grandfather had whittled and her grandmother hand painted. The one they’d given her for her 6th birthday just before he passed away. The one that still sits on her dresser worn and faded.  
  
“No,” Jacen looks at her then, his expression solemn. A glint in his eye that tells her he is powering through this so he can get it over with already. “H-he said, it was nice getting to know you.”  
  
The words blow her away. Body jolting back like she’s been physically struck, flattening against the back of the rickety chair.  
  
This isn't real. It couldn’t be real. It's utterly _surreal_. He wouldn’t do that to her. Would he? Had he just been leading her on all this time? Looking to score during his summer in the country? Was she too naive to see that it had meant nothing to him?  
  
If it hadn’t meant anything, why would they bond? How does she explain their mark? The rings? The _words_?   
  
Every whispered word and promise swirls in the air around her. A seismic shift in the tectonic plates of her existence so severe it changes the shape of her world. Rearranges its landscape.  
  
 _It’s okay, I’ve got you ... Soulmates ... Good night sweetheart ... You, Rey, just you ... One day, I promise ... I’m in love with you ... A family of our own … Beautiful … It’s a promise, one for you and one for me … Future wife …  
  
_ _I love you Rey, more and more each day_.  
  
His baritone voice resonates in her head.  
  
That’s not him. It doesn’t fit. It can’t.  
  
But then ... once they’d gotten intimate, they could barely keep their hands off each other.   
  
Could it be? That she’d fallen for him so hard she’d deluded herself into thinking he actually cared? Was she just a game? A conquest? A way to lose his virginity and gain some practice before finding a proper girl in the city? One that wasn’t so far below his station?  
  
She leans forward, hands grasping her knees and chest heaving. Deep gulps of air coming in but not registering. For all the air in the room she feels like she's suffocating, breathing the thinnest air. Unable to find her center in the vortex swirling around her.  
  
Jacen’s hands manage to find her shoulders again. Both soft and clammy. It's a gesture meant to be comforting but with her swirling emotions it set her skin crawling.  
  
She sits up, bolt straight, fighting the shakiness wracking her body. Fighting back the heavy tears that threatened to spill. _That’s not Ben_. He didn’t leave. Maybe he had to go but he’ll come back. Soulmates don’t just quit. Whether she’s trying to convince herself or she's reciting a true belief, she’ll never know. But it's a glimmer of hope at the bottom of the well she’s found herself in.   
  
Her feet carry her to the door, over the threshold and to her speeder. Shaky hands grasp the handles, flipping the switch to put the clunker on standby. Jacen’s steps crunch in the soft gravel behind her. _One last attempt_.  
  
“I-I have to go. We need to get ready for harvest,” she tosses the words over her shoulder, unable to meet his eye for fear she’ll break down. Cry and let the sadness wash over her. And crying would be admitting defeat.   
  
Defeat that’s not plausible because they’re stronger than that. He’ll come back for her. Even with the tightness in her chest and the clenching of her throat, she’s not willing to admit that was it. There’s more to it. Their story isn’t over. He’ll be in touch. Why didn’t he at least leave the …  
  
“Did he leave anything for me?”  
  
Because maybe he left the comm. That would make the most sense. If he really had to go so quickly, he would have left a means of communication.  
  
Jacen’s face screws in what appears to be anger or sadness? She's too high strung on her own emotions to be able to read his clearly. He’s cast his eyes down to his feet again, shaking his head once. “No,” he admitts, shoulders hunched.  
  
She remembers nodding once in acceptance. She remembers hopping on the speeder. She remembers putting it into gear and maneuvering it onto the dirt road, past the agents standing guard.  
  
She doesn't put on her goggles. Doesn't put on her protective rags. She punches the clunker to full speed, letting the dry arid parched wick away her tears as the world around her collapses into cataclysmic doom.

  
  


…

  
  


Time passes. She waits. She puts on a brave face and works around the farm clutching onto hope. Evenings she locks herself in her room and cries quietly. She waits and hears nothing. When she closes her eyes she falls into an endless black pit until she wakes.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


Time passes. It’s been a month. She’s numb. He hasn’t made contact. She clutches onto hope tighter. He’s making plans, she promises herself, getting things ready for them. Her sleeps remain deep and restless, consumed by darkness.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


Time passes. She functions like a zombie. Her hands move automatically while she works in tandem with her father to reap the harvest and dehydrates Skywalker yams with her mother. Words escape her. She’s mostly silent. Her body goes through the motions of daily life. Her grip on hope is slipping. When she sleeps it’s fitful and she wakes up crying.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


A year passes. Food has no taste. Sounds don’t elicit emotion. Sleep doesn’t bring rest. Air is for breathing. Life is just existing. Jacen visits. She doesn’t talk. He hugs her awkwardly whispering _I’m sorry_. Fingers try to slide between hers in a crude attempt at hand holding. She recoils. Hope begins to slip through her fingers like grains of sand. It takes her hours to fall asleep, staring at the sloped ceiling of her bedroom and thinking, feeling, seeing nothing.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


A year passes. Emotions don’t exist anymore. The only thing she can tangibly feel is empty. And that’s not an emotion. But to her it is. Jacen visits. He brings his game console. Her reaction time is garbage so he wins. Even his grin doesn’t elicit emotion. Not an ounce of competitiveness surfaces. He brings her fruit she doesn’t eat. He hugs her awkwardly. She still recoils. Her fist tries to clutch onto the last grains of hope. She begins to sleep longer. Dreams are empty but for the occasional flitting of his face across her field of vision.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


A year passes. If she were a glass of water she’d be collecting dust. Sitting empty for over 1,000 days. Her parents maneuver around her silently but lines of worry become imprinted on their faces. Jacen visits. He still hugs her awkwardly. He tells her she should try to move on. She walks away and locks her bedroom door. She tries to catch the remaining grains of hope with her other hand. A futile attempt at catching its remnants. In her dreams, she sees Ben’s full body standing there, what feels like miles away, forever out of reach.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


A year passes. Her body is on autopilot. She’s begun forcing smiles for her parents who’ve become stressed with worry about her. She wears a mask. Pretends she’s better while she’s barely existing. Jacen stops visiting. She finds solace in routine, repetition to numb her senses until she can sleep. Her fists are clutched so tight her nails threated to break skin, yet the only hope they’re cradling has whittled down to the equivalent of a single grain of sand. Sleep is the only place she can be with him and even there he doesn’t speak, he doesn’t come near her. She dreams of the soulmate who doesn’t want her. The one who abandoned her.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


A year passes. Her father contracts a new strain of pneumonia selling their crop at the outpost in the fall. She and her mother take turns caring for him and scraping all their saved credits to call a doctor. He passes away within the week. The hole in her chest grows wider. The void pulls her in deeper. The muscles in her fists begin to tire, the last remnant of hope is starting to slip away. Her dreams go black again.  
  
Her mother develops symptoms within days of her father’s passing. Rey uses the last of their credits to call in a doctor. She nurses her mother to the best of her abilities. Holds her hand as she takes her last breath and whispers _I love you mama_. The hole in her chest is a gaping maw now. The void like dark water, laps around her ears and compresses around her throat. She feels like she’s drowning. Hope has at last slipped fully through her fingers. Her hands idly grasp around her searching for it like it wants to be found. She should just let go.

  
  


⏳⌛️

  
  


Owen and Jacen help her bury her parents next to her grandmother. Quietly wishing her family goodbye under the old oak tree. The Skywalkers offer her the guest dome but it holds too many memories. She fishes out the deed to their property and hands it to them. Asks for enough credits to go to the outpost.  
  
Owen gives her a thousand credits and promises he’ll give her more, whatever she asks, whenever she asks without limit. Beru gives her a hug. Jacen looks angry. She packs her family’s only suitcase with whatever small mementos she has, locking up the house permanently and walking into the academy conscription centre at the outpost. Leaving the old speeder to be pilfered by whoever snatches it first.  
  
Within 24 hours she’s on a transport to Coruscant.  
  
Within 48 hours she’s wearing a standard issue imperial cadet uniform, has a small room to call her own. Has a bloody nose from sparring. Feels insignificant amidst the crowds of Coruscant.  
  
That first week, during her first scheduled break, she’d made her way to the archives. She’d searched for his name and came up empty. That was the first time she’d truly lost hope in her life.  
  
Her hands had stopped trying to recapture the hope she’d been holding onto for so long.  
  
Her light had finally been snuffed out.

  
  
  
  
  
  


There’s a golden plaque on the door, one she only sees when the guards scan her fob for the final time before parting to let her through. In ornately curled calligraphy, the name _Leia Organa-Solo_ shines under the soft lights in this hallway.  
  
Her breath catches at the implication as one of the guards presses an access panel and the doors swing open. It’s a life changing moment when the doors swing outwardly to reveal the expansive office behind them. A complete tilting of her life’s axis before she’s even had a chance to catch her bearings. The first thing her eyes fall on is the small, compact woman standing dead centre, frozen gracefully like an ancient statue. Hands clasped in front of a thickly woven teal gown, shoulders draped in a long black overcoat with gold insets. Her wrists are cuffed with thick golden bangles. Her hair is woven into an intricate braid spanning the crown of her head. All five foot nothing of the short statured woman does nothing to hide the sheer authority she seems to naturally ooze. Like royalty.  
  
She’s both beautiful and terrifying. Her visage giving no hint of an age. She could be 40. She could be 70. She’s certainly old enough to be married to General Solo, but could be young enough to have children in their early teens.   
  
It isn’t the swirling cloud of indubitable leadership around the woman that makes her breath catch and her heart race. It’s not that she’s just come face to face with the most powerful woman in the galaxy. Or that it all happened in the span of 30 seconds when she’d assumed she was just going to some kind of reconditioning centre. It’s her _eyes_.  
  
The minute their eyes lock, she recognizes them like she’d seen them yesterday. The same set of eyes that haunt her dreams and weigh down her every lucid thought. They’re Ben’s eyes.  
  
 _Get your shit together Rey_.  
  
“Pi Gamma?” the senator's eyebrows arch up as she holds out one hand, palm up in invitation.  
  
“Yes madam senator,” is about all she can squeak out in response.  
  
“Have a seat please,” the senator sweeps her held out hand towards a chair and circles around to the other side of her desk. The doors behind them whirr shut and Rey finds herself alone with the senator she’s seen so often in announcements and holos.  
  
The office is large. Massive really. At least 4 times the size of her quarters. It’s airy too, surprisingly. The scent of roses cancelling the usual metallic notes clinging to the air almost cloyingly. The entirety of the layout is centered around a grand desk made of some high-gloss black polymer. The expanse of it woefully empty with the exception of a holoprojector and a second gleaming name plate. Two plush black chairs sit on her side while a grand throne like swivel awaits the senator on the other.   
  
Behind the senator’s ornate chair an expanse of thick glass spans from floor to ceiling, highlighting the breathtaking view out to deep space. The sides of the office are flanked by floor to ceiling bookshelves filled to the brim with black and gold bound books. The floor is a beautiful bright white imitation marble with streaks of onyx and gold, contrasting the darkness of the furniture and space. The only light in the office provided by a surprisingly antique looking chandelier. Eight wrought arms extend outward capped with flame-shaped flickering lights, draped in hundreds of sparkling crystals. It’s a shock of human history against the hard lines of the station.   
  
Though the office is barren with the exception of the formal desk and chairs, it feels surprisingly homey. Maybe it’s the senator’s presence. She’s both terrifying and motherly.  
  
 _Don’t get comfortable, Rey. She can send you back in a heartbeat.  
  
_ Rey sits in one of the chairs stiffly, hands wringing in her lap and eyes glued to the edge of the desk where there are two deep dents in the surface. A shame, she thinks. It’s such a beautiful piece. Her hand reaches up unbidden to trace the valley of the dents with her fingers.   
  
“My son is a hot head,” the senator states plainly as she lowers into her seat. Rey notices that her act of sitting isn’t awkward like the way she or the other cadets plop into their seats. It’s a gentle lowering that’s graceful, like a mallard gliding across a pond. She floats across the floor and equally majestically comes to rest in (an assumed) seated position, perched on her throne. She offers Rey a smile and there’s something in that, too, that she recognizes. It sets her at ease automatically, even if her brain is screaming to stay on her guard.   
  
She simply gulps and nods, keeping her head straight, her shoulders back, bringing her eyes up to meet the senator’s. The only sign of her nervousness are her cleverly hidden hands wringing her ring in her lap.  
  
“I’m sorry for all the secrecy dear. I’m afraid my security detail is still a bit…” she waves her hand in the air, grasping for some word or another, “jumpy. Let’s go with that. Did you find your way here okay?”  
  
There’s a micro-moment of confusion. A split second where her brain supplies a _what the fuck_ by way of communicating the strange situation she’s found herself in. As in, she just arrived yesterday and less than 24 hours later she’s sitting in front of the senator of H.O.M.E station who’s asking her questions as benign as ‘how’s the weather’.  
  
“No, madam senator, I found it just fine.”  
  
“Leia, please,” the senator tuts gently, “just call me Leia.”  
  
“Of course, madam s- Leia,” Rey agrees hurriedly, head dipping in deferrence.  
  
The senator’s eyes skim over her again. Her glances soft, the same way her husbands had been yesterday. The same way Kylo’s were. Fuck there it goes again. She feels the small forced smile she’s pasted on her face waver before she thinks better of it. Feels the corners of her mouth quiver like a tiny _almost_ imperceptible earthquake. Almost because it’s a signal the senator must pick up on. Because she laces her fingers and props her elbows on the desk. Down to business, her posture says.  
  
“This is a secret mission and you come highly recommended.”  
  
Now that sentence makes her head jerk back a smidge and her eyebrows raise because, well, who’d recommend _her_? She’s nobody. Barely arrived. Maybe this is some kind of joke the politicians play with new agents. It wouldn’t surprise her. Some of the older cadets would routinely prank fresh recruits. A ridiculous rite of passage she luckily managed to avoid but witnessed far too many times for her liking.  
  
“My son has some unfinished business on Earth. He’s been needing to go back for some time but,” she pauses here and looks down at her clasped hands almost sadly. There’s something to be said about a woman of her status letting her mask slip so easily. Whatever this business is, affects her deeply, “... but due to unstable conditions I haven’t been able to grant him passage.”  
  
 _Not a joke then_.  
  
What unstable conditions could she possibly be referring to? The First Order? Sure they were a terror cell that was responsible for some heinous offences against humanity but they were really no different from the unorganized criminals that still haunted the cities and settlements of Earth. From what she knew, they were dismantled only weeks ago. Finally uncovered and captured. Were they a relatively well organized batch of bad apples? _Yes_. Did their annihilation change the living conditions on Earth? _No_.  
  
“So, I’ve put together a security detail and organized a shuttle to take him down this evening. And you, my dear, have been recommended and selected as the security lead.”  
  
Her.   
  
Security lead.   
  
She fights to stifle an incredulous laugh. Because … _what the actual fuck_?  
  
Isn’t that role reserved for more seasoned agents? Isn’t this woman the senator and by extension her son is some form of space royalty? Shouldn’t that mean they’d choose carefully vetted, wholly dedicated officers of the highest ranks for this? Besides, she has to wait for Dr. Skywalker’s news. He’d asked her for 24 hours and she’s down to what, 16?   
  
She’d like to argue. Would like to point out all the reasons why she’s not a good fit. Why she couldn’t possibly be chosen, but she knows better than to contradict someone of senator Organa-Solo’s status. Knows it’s not her place to question these types of decisions. If she’s here, and she is utterly and completely here (she’s pinched herself twice since she’s sat down to make sure it was indeed real), then obviously the machine has churned and this is the outcome.  
  
“Thank you mada- Leia,” she offers gratefully instead, biting back her skepticism.  
  
The senator seems to eye her again, watching her intently like she too is trying to understand exactly why Rey is sitting here. Her mouth purses and relaxes a few times while she seems to size up the security lead in charge of her precious asset.  
  
“The shuttle will be at gate YT-1300. I believe that’s the one you arrived at?”  
  
Rey nods, automatically offering a ‘yes ma’am,’ as her years at the academy have drilled into her.  
  
“Good. Good. The shuttle will be ready for 1800 today.”  
  
 _Oh no_. She’ll definitely miss the 24 hour mark with Dr. Skywalker. But then, this might be a golden opportunity. If she performs well here, maybe it will open the door to better missions. Maybe she can request one to the unknown reaches of space. To a place so far and so remote she can finally leave it all behind.   
  
One last stint on the ol’ dustball … she can do that, right? What could the senator’s son possibly want? To buy a piece of jewelry for his wife or daughter at one of the overpriced boutiques in a large city? To see some ancient wonder of the world in all its crumbling glory, in a vain attempt at feeling connected to the birthplace of humanity?  
  
She can do this. Do this and be back in time to get in touch with Dr. Skywalker so she can put her past behind her. _Finally_.  
  
“Be there for that time. The pilot will have all the details. Again, I’m sorry for the secrecy. It's just best if there’s as little trace as possible.” As in … this shouldn’t be happening on taxpayer credits but clearly is. Rey can read between the lines.  
  
The senator turns slightly in her chair, her countenance seems to lean a little to the left and Rey thinks she must have crossed her legs. Is this a dismissal?  
  
“How big is the security team?” Rey manages to ask. A pathetic attempt at sounding professional. At imparting a sense of reassurance that she _is_ the woman for this job.  
  
“You, two additional agents, the pilot and my son,” the senator offers a little more relaxed. It seems she appreciates the question.  
  
“And the shuttle? I’d like to be prepared for all situations.” She’s not trying to impress the senator anymore. In fact, strategics was her favourite class at the academy.   
  
The senator’s brow arches, interest piqued.   
  
“Lambda model.”  
  
Good. Inconspicuous, cozy. Easily manned by one pilot though it has seating for two in the cockpit. Quiet. _Exceptionally_ quiet. She’s seen only one at the academy and she’s pretty sure they’re reserved for very, _very_ high ranking officials because of their additional shields and cloaking technology.  
  
She finds her head bobbing appreciatively. Maybe she says _good, good_ but she can’t be sure. Her mind is making calculations on perimeter sweeps.  
  
“Is the crew already selected?”  
  
She has no idea where this bravery comes from. 5 minutes ago she could barely breathe in the vicinity of this woman. Now she feels an excited thrum in her veins like she’s organizing a tactical assault with Captain Rex at the academy. It’s such an easy role to slip into, so easy to assume a position of equality on this topic.  
  
“Yes. Unless you have requests?”  
  
“I do,” Rey concedes.  
  
“Normally I wouldn’t be too keen on last minute changes, but…” she smiles at her so softly, Rey is reminded of her own mother. The smile she would get when she’d make her extra proud. It stings a little. “But you seem like a capable young woman and if an … amendment … improves your ability to protect my son, I’m willing to bend the rules a little.”  
  
The senator’s smile grows exponentially. It’s conspiratorial, really. Like a secret shared between friends. In this moment, Rey doesn’t even know _why_ she’d been scared shitless upon arrival. She could see herself working closely with the senator, bantering over lunch and exchanging vanilla jokes.  
  
“I’d like to request a fellow agent, if that’s alright mada- _ahem_ … Leia. Xi iota eta, station 0000.”  
  
“Done. Anything else?”  
  
“No ma’am. I’ll organize the remaining security details upon arrival at gate YT-1300 and a thorough discussion with the pilot.”  
  
A current of unspoken appreciation courses between them. Tangible though it’s utterly invisible. It’s an age old understanding between women. The unspoken pride in seeing one of their gender so wholly dedicated.  
  
“Thank you, pi gamma. I…” the senator pauses, leaning her hands on her desk to stand up and begin floating (because now that she sees her again, she’s _definitely_ floating) towards what Rey can only assume is the door. Now that they’ve hammered out the bare bones details, she’s moving to dismiss her. Rey follows suit in that silent understanding again.  
  
As they reach the door, Leia looks back at her, hand hovering over the access panel.  
  
“I want you to know that my son is difficult. He’s experienced a major loss that he … hasn’t bounced back from. I can’t begin to fathom what it is, but it has unsettled him deeply. This mission is my way of correcting the part I’ve played in that. Please,” her eyes turn up to Rey, filled with sadness and longing, “take it easy on him? He wasn’t always the way he is.”  
  
Rey wants to reach out and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Wants to hug her in an act that is too human, too instinctual to have a place in the structured exchanges of imperial life. The senator’s pain is palpable, a weight she carries so gracefully you wouldn’t know it’s there unless you _really_ looked. But now there are little tells Rey hadn’t noticed before. The saddened downturn of her mouth, the wrinkles around her eyes seem to have set specifically around this emotion. Her shoulders slump ever so slightly under the weight she carries. One she’s seen before in her own mother the day her father passed away. A slump that spoke of failure to keep the one you love safe. One she too carries.  
  
Rey nods and watches Leia’s hand close in on the access pad.  
  
“Madam senator?” she’s not sure why she’s speaking. Could find herself expelled from the program for it. “Leia … if I may … you’ve brought prosperity to Earth, where I’m from. Settled civil unrest. The work you did for setting up a functioning political system on Yavin V is nothing short of miraculous. I’m sure you are as wonderful a mother as you are a senator. Whatever your son needs, I’ll help him find it and help you set things right. If you’ll pardon my speaking out of turn.”  
  
Leia’s hand shakes, hovering inches in front of the access pad. It feels like hours go by, deafening silence ensuing while Rey lets the weight of what she’s said settle between them. How completely and utterly out of place she was.   
  
And yet, she can’t find it in her to regret a single word. Regardless of her mission to forget Kylo, to put as much distance between herself and Earth as possible, to leave behind her past and live out the rest of her days quietly, she’s going to put her heart and soul into this mission. For this small woman with a broken heart. Because nobody deserves to suffer like this if it can be helped.  
  
In the blink of an eye, the senator has swivelled on her invisible feet and wrapped her arms around Rey. Enveloping her in a hug she didn’t know she’d needed all these years. “Thank you sweetheart,” she says pulling away with a twinkle in her eye, “please just … do what you can to help him. I don’t know how long he’ll need but I’ll organize a paired comm directly with me. If you need to extend your stay, more resources … anything. Just … help him, okay?”  
  
Rey doesn’t remember nodding in assent, doesn’t remember walking out of those expansive doors. Barely registers the senator stating she understood why Rey was recommended. Doesn’t remember getting into the turbolift or making her way back to her quarters.  
  
All she remembers is the way the senator had smelled _too_ familiar up close. The way the word _sweetheart_ replayed in her mind over and over like a broken holo.

  
  


…

  
  


The pilot is Poe Dameron. This must have been the same mission the cadets had overheard on their way up to the station yesterday. He’s just as handsome as she remembers. Just as cocksure too.  
  
Finn and another agent by codename psi delta rho. They’re wearing their full GxSuits and helmets as mandated for missions so she can’t see the other agent. Based on the missions flashing across her visor, he’s definitely older and definitely more seasoned. Probably better suited to be the lead but who is she to look a gift horse in the mouth.   
  
The pilot ‘just call me Poe, Dameron is my father’ gave them a rudimentary briefing on the mission. Nothing she didn’t already know from her meeting with the senator. Security detail for one Benjamin Organa-Solo. Destinations unknown. Perimeter to be determined. Mission length unknown. Arrival point 4 miles outside of Niima outpost. That’s a little too close for comfort but, again, gift horse. She just needs to perform well and she’ll be thick as thieves with the senator. She can _do_ this.  
  
“Leader, you’ll want to setup perimeter this evening and discuss Solo’s whims in the morning. Careful, he’s a broody one,” the pilot laughs, throwing her a wink. She’s glad she’s wearing her helmet because something about his cockiness irks her and she’d prefer he not see her irritation. The screen flashes his info again, **deference highly recommended** , and she suppresses an eyeroll.  
  
“Speaking of which,” Poe’s eyes drift over her shoulder and he straightens out slightly, though not completely wiping the arrogant grin off his face, “Ben! You ready to go?”  
  
The name sends a shiver down her spine.  
  
All at once the three agents turn.   
  
All at once she feels like she’s been punched in the gut. Like the rug’s been swept from beneath her feet. Her suit whirrs loudly to soothe the complete and utter dumpster fire that’s ensuing between its polished plates. Because there, in the doorway of the hanger stands the one person she never thought she’d seen again. Her soulmate. Her _Ben_.  
  
His hair is longer, kissing the tops of his shoulders but still as unruly as she remembers. He’s wider, having filled out the lanky tall frame she remembers every inch of. His face is older but distinctly the same, moles still in the same places she remembers memorizing. He’s dressed in all black. Black tunic, black pants, black boots, black gloves. He’s wearing a cape for some unknown fucking reason. Like some ridiculous space goth. He looks sad, too, and _angry_. The same eyes she remembers so clearly devoid of the sparkling light they used to house.   
  
“Are you okay?” she feels a hand at her elbow, knows that’s Finn talking. Knows he (and probably everyone within a 2 mile radius) can hear her suit working over time, can see her frame wobbling like it’s going to cave into itself.  
  
“No,” she manages to whisper. Because she’s not. She’s pretty sure her suit has engaged the built in defib to beat her heart for her because it’s definitely stopped. She’s also pretty sure she wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for the graphene plating that’s currently acting like the scaffolding for the mush her body’s become.  
  
Kylo Ren … no … Kylo _Ben_ Ren, glances in their direction once, then thuds angrily past them. Angry? No, maybe? He looks like he’s having an internal argument with himself. Just as quickly as he’d come into view, he’s grunted something unintelligible and plowed into the cockpit closing the door. Like a rogue gust of wind, blowing everything over and disappearing like it was never there.  
  
“Friendly as always,” the pilot muses in a sing-song voice.  
  
When she’s able to focus, when her eyes finally are able to see something outside of the tunnel she’s found herself in, her screen flashes **Benjamin Organa-Solo**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok but I only re-read and edited it 3 times so if there's any mistakes, y'know why.
> 
> Alright. We've wrapped up their past and are setup for reconciliation. Now ... gf needs a damn drink cause that was like scraping my feelings raw.


	14. Red Sky in the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Look at this shit. They graduated from Coruscant. They’re my dad’s. I swear to God Poe, if they’re fanboys…”_
> 
> _“Pi Gamma is female…” the pilot interjects._
> 
> _“You're really intent on splitting hairs today, huh?”_
> 
> _“Was just pointing it out so she doesn’t kick my ass later when she inevitably kicks yours. Because ... again, Ben, small shuttle … amplified hearing.”_
> 
> _There’s the sound of air being stirred and she imagines the pilot’s hands waving towards the cockpit door frantically, his black curls bouncing in this direction and that._
> 
> _A sigh. “That’s not the point Dameron!”_
> 
> _“Then humour me, what is?”_
> 
> _“The point is,” she hears soft thumps like he’s pressing his ridiculously large gloved finger onto the console as if driving said point home, “I’ve waited a long, long, looooong time for this and I won’t have it … ruined in the name of bolstering an inexperienced agent’s portfolio. Not because my mother is looking to fill her monthly charity quota.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The running title of this chapter was _'Eavesdropping'_ until pretty much the end. You'll find out soon enough why. I needed to set up a realistic scenario for them to hash things out. Doing so immediately wouldn't make sense (though it does satisfy the reconciliation bone in me). This chapter is conversation heavy and lends to set Rey up to make the decision she needs to make with Ben.
> 
> The title comes from an old sailor's adage - a red sky in the morning implies an incoming storm. (Full adage is: red sky at night, sailors delight. Red sky in the morning, sailors warning.)
> 
> Having said that, I'm sorry it took a while to get this one out. We've lost a very close family friend to suicide and things have been out of sorts around here. I should be back on a more regular schedule now. 
> 
> Oh, one last heads up - issa long one.

Her ears were still ringing, eyes still swimming. **Benjamin Organa-Solo** flashing like those gaudy neon lights in the less tasteful parts of Coruscant, trying to attract your attention to this seedy bar or that questionable establishment. Except unlike those, she wasn’t tuning them out with disgust - no, she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.  
  
She’d huffed out half-hearted responses to set the agents and pilot at ease but she hadn’t really heard anything they said or asked. Just responded in the affirmative while her brain struggled to catch up, blinded by the flashing of _his_ name. Hoping the voice modulator would keep it steady, make her sound - if not authoritative, at least somewhat confident. Her suit practically carried her into the shuttle and into her seat.  
  
She didn’t even know, really, how she’d gotten into the shuttle in the first place, or buckled her restraints. If she’d helped carry in the supplies or if that had already been taken care of. Had no memory of any flight instructions from the pilot before he sequestered himself in the cabin with Ben. Her hearing didn’t really return until she heard the shuttle groan as it detached from the station.   
  
_Fucking liar.  
  
_ The silent space flight after the detachment left the cabin eerily quiet save for the various soft beeps and whirrs of the craft. Not like she noticed though with her head pounding and filled with white noise. A high pitched screeching like tinnitus because she felt like she’d taken a direct hit from a stun grenade.  
  
Because that’s what’s just happened. Of all the life-shattering, axis-tilting things to happen today, she hadn’t been prepared for _this_.  
  
“I can’t believe my mother assigns two fucking noobs to my detail.”  
  
His voice is muffled by the cockpit door but the words ring surprisingly clear. Maybe it’s the auditory amplifier in the helmet tuning in. His words barely register. All she’s doing is solely focusing on the sound of his deep voice cutting through the buzzing in her head. She finds it surprisingly calming. A voice she’s _missed_. A voice she’s _longed_ for.  
  
 _The voice of a fucking liar!  
  
_ “Jesus Ben, you know those suits make them superhuman! They can _hear_ you.”  
  
There’s a snuffing sound, like he’s scoffing. She knows it’s him and not the pilot because … well she just knows. It’s the way the air is being expelled sounds. The force with which it’s being pushed out. An inherent attunement to _his_ breathing rhythm she’ll never be able to disassociate from.  
  
“So? Am I not allowed to be underwhelmed?”  
  
“Uh, yeah but you know … _quietly_. As in … your own head.”  
  
There’s the sounds of metal whirring, maybe the pressing of a button or two. It’s hard to gauge what actions are being taken without visual confirmation, but there’s clues. It’s just how some sounds are linked to certain bodily movements that help paint the picture behind the closed door.  
  
“Look at this,” Ben’s voice is laced with venom, “they arrived yesterday from the _fucking academy_. Not a single mission under their belts.”  
  
There’s a chuckle, the pilot’s based on the haughtiness of it. It sounds as cocksure as he is. Her hackles begin rising unbidden. And just who the fuck is he to laugh at her soulmate’s concerns?   
  
_No. Not soulmate. He chose to leave and not contact her.  
  
_ Even though the universe had seen fit to link them together, he’s made his choice and it isn’t her _._ And to make things worse, he’d been at H.O.M.E station all these years and never bothered reaching out. He’d practically been within arms reach all this time and…  
  
 _Oh my God I met his mother.  
  
_ _Oh my God his mother is the fucking Senator!  
  
_ If she’d thought he was some wealthy, spoiled city brat before, now the weight of just who he is is absolutely crushing. He’s not just _a_ rich somebody. He’s _the_ rich somebody. One of only a handful of people whose lives are more important than a planet’s worth of colonists.   
  
And his parents had wanted him to go into _politics_. Holy shit he might be on track to become the next senator of H.O.M.E. Not only do things in their past click, but suddenly she feels so much smaller, so much more insignificant it physically hurts.  
  
The suit thrums against her uselessly, trying to calm the spiral which she’s found herself in for the second time in less than 10 minutes. The one that started the moment she saw him. Saw his name flash across the screen. The moment she realized he’d given her a fake name. The moment she realized it had _all_ been a lie.  
  
“It’s not funny Poe. I’ve waited for this opportunity for eight fucking years. _Eight years_! And what do I get? Agents in diapers? A green security detail?”  
  
“Hey!” the pilot cried indignantly, “what am I chopped liver?”  
  
“You know what I mean,” he says more softly, his tone almost insolent. Another huff of air is expelled, probably through his nose in that adorable way of his.   
  
_No_ , _not adorable. He’s an asshole.  
  
_ “Look, Leia picked them so they must have good skills. You know these consoles only display the basics. I’m sure once we get down there you can pull up their full careers and you’ll see why they were chosen.”  
  
A snort. “Look at this shit. They graduated from Coruscant. They’re my dad’s. I swear to God Poe, if they’re fanboys…”  
  
“Pi Gamma is female…” the pilot interjects.   
  
“You're really intent on splitting hairs today, huh?”  
  
“Was just pointing it out so she doesn’t kick my ass later when she inevitably kicks _yours_. Because ... _again, Ben,_ small shuttle … amplified hearing.”  
  
There’s the sound of air being stirred and she imagines the pilot’s hands waving towards the cockpit door frantically, his black curls bouncing in this direction and that.  
  
A sigh. “That’s _not_ the point Dameron!”  
  
“Then humour me, what is?”  
  
“The point is,” she hears soft thumps like he’s pressing his ridiculously large gloved finger onto the console as if driving said point home, “I’ve waited a long, long, _looooong_ time for this and I won’t have it … _ruined_ in the name of bolstering an inexperienced agent’s portfolio. Not because my mother is looking to fill her monthly charity quota.”  
  
There’s silence again in the cockpit. In the shuttle really. All she can hear are the thrusters quietly pulsing. That one kind of hurt on behalf of her entire academy. Does he even know what they make cadets go through? Even _green_ agents are better prepared than your standard civilian or off world militia. But...  
  
 _He’s waited eight years. For what?  
  
_ Her heart flutters briefly before settling back into its erratic thumping, the implication ghosting over her conscience before falling away. Like it knows she’ll admonish it if it stays too long, but wants to make itself known. It’s a sliver of hope that’s afraid of being tamped down so it peeks its head ever so slightly.  
  
She hears his voice again, quieter, sadder if that’s even possible. “It’s probably payback for having been a pain in her ass for so long.”  
  
A couple of switches are flipped, one of the thrusters pulses a little louder outside. Other than that the cockpit sounds like it’s steeped in heavy thought.  
  
“Why _have_ you been such a pain in the ass?” The pilot finally speaks. His tone, too, is softer. One you’d take on with an old friend, not someone you’re paired up with for a mission.  
  
She hears him sigh.  
  
Rey wants to say he deserves it, the sadness in his voice, but her heart won’t let that manifest. As much as she wants to be angry, as much as she _wants_ him to be hurting as much as she’s hurt for the last 8 years, the emotion just doesn’t stick. It rolls like water off sunscreen oiled skin. Because right now, even knowing it had all been a lie she can’t deny the truth. She’s still absolutely, positively, hopelessly in love with him. Every atom in her body bears his signature. He’s imprinted in her genetic makeup. Impossible to erase or excise.  
  
“Shut up, Poe.”  
  
Deafening silence ensues. She can see Finn shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Can feel the soft brush of the anti-gravity restraints and the plush cushioning of the seat. Can hear the soft beeping of the fancy lambda class shuttle as it makes its way towards the desert she used to call home.  
  
Why is he going there? What’s his business? Why has he waited eight years for this mission?  
  
Her traitorous heart flips and flops in her chest. Thoughts of _he’s coming for you_ , and _he still loves you_ warring with the undeniable fact that he left without a word and said _nothing_. Not a note, not a blip, not a squeak. Not even a quick ‘thanks for the fuck’ before disappearing like she meant nothing. But that little sliver of hope crawling out of its hiding place in her head begins making demands. Making attempts at rationalizing everything in favour of Ben.  
  
“What’s the deal with Pi Gamma anyway?”  
  
A pause.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You know,” she imagines him thumbing towards the door in the small span of silence that follows, “her suit was making all _kinds_ of noise in the hangar.”  
  
The pilot laughs again, this time loudly. He’s _howling_. So much so she would bet everything she’d be able to hear him without the helmet’s aid. It’s the kind of laugh she would guess involved tears. And there was definitely snorting.  
  
“Dude. You’re kidding right?”  
  
Ben’s silent, the pilot’s laughter simmers to bursts of chuckles. “You literally sweep in all fire and brimstone like the grim _fucking_ reaper. I’m surprised they _all_ didn’t shit their pants.”  
  
“Oh _fuck you_ Poe!”  
  
“Love you too Ben,” there’s rustling, like they’re children wrestling in their bedroom. And yeah if she wasn’t still (half) mad at him abandoning her, she might think this exchange was cute.   
  
She’d never seen him interact with anyone like this. With her he was always understanding and gentle. Sweet and funny. Serving her that adorable half smile with the closed lips and the dimples that made his eyes shine.   
  
_He’s still an asshole dammit._   
  
But with the pilot? They acted like they grew up together. Like there was history beyond running a few missions.  
  
“Mind hitting the auto-grav switch for me? No, the blue one. Just … to the right, no. Yes that one. Buckle up we’re gonna hit atmosphere.”  
  
Before the pilot’s words are fully processed in her bogged down mind, before she can even consider chuckling because she knows how dense he can be with technology, the shuttle dips and jerks. A deep rattle shakes the craft before it settles again. This time there’s a pull beneath her. Something familiar and beautiful. A heavy blanket wrapping around her body that’s more comforting than the weight of the graphene plates comprising her armour. Something that feels more like home than the station did in the meagre hours she’s spent there with its artificial system. Almost as comforting as the hum of the bond and pressing their marks together. _Gravity_.  
  
“So … you gonna tell me what we’re doing here or nah?”  
  
“Nope,” Ben pops the _p_ in a seemingly playful way.  
  
“Oh come on Solo, if I know I can help. Let me _help_ you ol’ buddy ol’ pal!”  
  
“Like you did when we were kids? _Nooo thank you_.”   
  
The pilot laughs again. A chuckle that’s a little on the side of wistful. “We had fun though didn’t we?”  
  
“ _You_ had fun, Poe. I had to take the blame while you ruthlessly used my name to get out of _all_ the trouble we got in.”  
  
 _So they did grow up together_.  
  
“ _Heeey_! What good is having Leia for a mother if you can’t name drop her when you get caught swimming in the saltwater tanks?”  
  
“That’s what _you_ remember. I remember getting the verbal scolding of my life, being yanked out of school and getting switched to tutor droids.”  
  
One sided laughter ensues as the shuttle’s thrusters begin to roar. “Totally worth it.”  
  
“Need I remind you we ruined an entire crop’s worth of bioplastic ready algae?”  
  
The pilot only laughs in response, “like I said … _totally_ worth it.”  
  
“Again, fuck you Dameron.”  
  
Silence ensues again. The Lambda stutters and shakes briefly. Outside the window she can see the wispy tufts of clouds they’re probably slicing through on their descent.  
  
“So you really won’t tell me what we’re doing here? What you’ve waited eight years, as you so fondly like to remind everyone, for?”  
  
Ben sighs again and her heart clenches. It sounds like it’s coming from the depths of his soul. She should stay mad, she _really_ should but there’s that sliver of hope peeking its head again, grinning mischievously, making their bond hum quietly. Maybe he hears it too...  
  
“Maybe I will if we’re successful at finding her- _it_. _Shit_ , it. It. Finding _it._ ”  
  
“ _Her_?” She can practically see the pilot’s bug-eyed face based on his tone. She’d almost missed it herself if he hadn’t blundered right after the slip. At least the pilot caught it clearly.  
  
 _Her_. What ‘her’ could he possibly have waited to come down to the deserts of Jakku for?  
  
 _Eight years. You, Rey.  
  
_ “How’s Kay?” Ben is deflecting. She wants the pilot to press him. Fuck, _she_ wants to march into the cockpit and press him herself. Judging by the way Finn and the other agent are leaning in, so would they.  
  
“You’re deflecting,” the pilot whines.  
  
 _Yes, you are. Do tell_.  
  
“I am ...so?” She could hear the defiance in his voice and is both equally proud and annoyed because she wants to know more than anything. Maybe she wants to hear him admit it, that he’s coming for _her_. Wants to hear him say her name so she can know for certain that her inner voice is right. That they can fix this, _together_. “You, Kay? When’s the wedding?”  
  
“If you keep funding me with those delivery trips? In a few months. But who’s this _her_?”  
  
 _What delivery trips_? _And yeah, Ben, who’s_ her? _Say it_ ...  
  
“Nope,” another popped _p_ and she can distinctly tell he might be sporting a smirk. “How come you haven’t done it yet? Get married?”  
  
Switches are flipped, she can hear a mechanical whirr outside and knows the shuttle’s wings are rising in preparation for landing.  
  
“You’re so fucking difficult Solo! But … credits mostly. _When_ we take the plunge I want to be ready to give her the life she deserves, y’know? Get her one of those nice properties like yours only smaller, build a home for us. Not everyone’s got it made like you.”  
  
There’s a shuffle, like feet sliding across the steel grated floor.  
  
“There it is,” Ben’s voice exclaims in awe.  
  
“Sit down before you hurt yourself. I don’t want to explain Leia why her only son came back with broken bones,” then, after a moment the pilot’s voice spikes with incredulity, “what the fuck is that? A farm?”  
  
And doesn’t her heart skip a beat? Because judging by the destination coordinates and the general vicinity to Niima outpost, a farm can only mean one thing...  
  
“Anyway,” the pilot’s voice rings out again, “if it wasn’t for the lack of credits I would have married her years ago. She just understands me on this visceral level, y’know? Finishes my sentences for me, knows exactly what I need and when I need it. She’s like my soulmate or something.”  
  
There’s a scuffle, a muffled _ow_. Another _what the fuck_. The shuttle tilts to the left briefly before straightening.  
  
“Fuck’s wrong with you Solo? I’m trying to land!”  
  
“The shuttle basically lands itself. Calm your tits,” Ben huffs, “and she’s not your soulmate.”  
  
The pilot scoffs in response. “Like you’re an expert.”  
  
With that, the shuttle groans and the air is filled with a plethora of sounds. Creaks and whirrs, the loud whoosh of the repulsor as the shuttle hovers over its landing spot, the soft thud as the landing gear settles. There’s the loud grind of the ramp lowering before Finn, Psi Delta and herself jump into action securing the perimeter.  
  
The first thing she notices when her feet hit solid ground, is the three domed buildings of the Skywalker stead.

  
  


…

  
  


As much as she wants to wait and see him, maybe even talk to him, her body has had three years of intensive academy training. It’s practically impossible for her not to automatically fall into a perimeter sweep. Pair that with the suit’s vibrations and she didn’t stand a chance. Psi Delta and herself begin scanning the property for danger while Finn rifles through one of the storage compartments for perimeter markers and busies himself with setting up the shield generator.   
  
Out of the corner of her eye she sees Beru, more gray than she’d left her now, come out of the main house. She sees her move to greet Ben and the pilot who’ve made their way down the ramp. He looks absolutely ridiculous in his all black getup, his cape fluttering in the wind against the sandy earth like some kind of dark lord. He must also be hot as fuck too. Her suit’s cooling system has started working to keep her temperature in check so she can only imagine what his heavy dark robes must feel like.  
  
There’s a brief greeting, Beru’s arms wrapping around Ben’s shoulders before she shuffles him inside. The pilot jogs towards her in that movie quality way - hair ruffling in the wind, a knowing smirk on his face, body bounding weightlessly in the air like he’s approaching in slow motion.  
  
‘Pi Gamma … how much did you hear?”  
  
Rey cocked her head to the side. _If you don’t mind, I have a perimeter to set so get to the point_.  
  
“Right, probably all of it. Listen, that lady there said to just secure a 500m radius. We’ll bring Solo’s stuff to the last dome over there,” he points to the guest dome and she nods in confirmation, “the rest of us will probably bunk on the benches of the Lambda unless we finish up quickly.”  
  
“Copy that,” she salutes before turning away to hail Finn.   
  
They spend a good deal of time burying the spikes, connecting the shield and testing the perimeter’s boundary with their blasters and missiles. Upon completion Finn and Psi Delta began securing the shuttle’s interiors (ie. the last she saw Finn he was lounging on a bench tucked in the back) while she went to collect Ben’s bags. Patsy work, really, but it made her feel close to him.  
  
A young woman, perhaps her own age, walks towards her as she closes the distance to the guest dome. Her hair is a sleek roan, styled into two long braids cascading down her shoulders and the closer she comes, the more it becomes apparent to Rey that she is heavily pregnant.  
  
“Hi there,” she waves happily, one hand resting on her prominent bump, “I’m Tenel. Would you like me to show you where Ben’s things go?”  
  
For a brief moment, Rey’s stomach plummets. There’s a heavily pregnant woman walking towards her using Ben’s name like she’s known him for a while. Is this the ‘her’? Is she who he came for? Even the little voice of hope in her head quieted, her body sagging under the weight of this possibility. The idea that he’d come for Rey slowly dissolving into nothingness. Her blood runs cold and if it weren’t for the nanobots lining her suit she’d have crumpled right then and there.  
  
“The pilot already pointed me in the direction,” she responds shakily. This is _her_. This is who Ben chose. He’s going to have a family. Her heart stutters because it hurts, it _hurts_ ...  
  
“Oh, well that’s alright. My husband sent me with the key so I can be of help that way then,” the woman, Tenel, says cheerfully.   
  
_They’re married_.   
  
Rey wants to run away, go into hiding and never return. No, she wants to wipe this woman off the face of the planet. For so long she’d convinced herself that he’d married and had a family. She’d even come to terms with it on a barely-there level because it was a hypothetical that fed the narrative she’d spun for her pathetic life. But seeing it in the flesh breaks something inside her. She needs confirmation.  
  
“Husband?” She can’t help it, the want to have it spelled out so her heart can finally break for good.  
  
“Yeah, my husband Jacen. Ben’s cousin? Did they not give you details? Oh these silly boys,” she swatted the air and continued on towards the guest dome, “I thought they gave you these big reports wherever you go. At least that’s what my father-in-law, Owen, says.”  
  
If you could swing any harder from absolutely stricken to euphoric delight, Rey would like to see proof because right now she is positively exultant.  
  
“No, not for this one apparently,” she offers in newfound camaraderie. Tenel giggles and Rey finds herself laughing beside her as they approach the door. The woman’s pudgy fingers fiddle with the key before catching it and unlocking the door. It creaks heavily before swinging wide open, letting bright daylight flood the room.   
  
Just as she’d left it. The same bed, same table and rickety chairs. Same nightstand. Even the bedsheets look to be the same ones. Their little space suspended in time and maintained by the very diligent Beru Skywalker.  
  
Rey takes one step inside, letting the ghosts of a happier time materialize. “I’m sorry we don’t have accommodations for you all, we didn’t even know you were coming until this morning,” Tenel starts, “but we definitely have plenty of food so I hope that makes up for having to sleep in the shuttle.”  
  
The woman smiles and Rey responds in kind, realizing only too late that she can't see it. One quick nod and Tenel walks away.  
  
“I’ll be sure to bring you some homemade cornbread for supper,” she calls over her shoulder, waving back at Rey happily.  
  
Her feet carry her further into the dark interior of the dome. Memories flood her mind as she gently sets Ben’s duffle bag on the table. Her hands release the bag and drop to skim along the table’s surface. Further along across the top of the chair. Legs carrying her to the bed where she skims her gloved finger tips over the bedsheets that once wrapped them in promises of a bright future. The sheets that were the envelope for happiness. Unbidden, her feet carry her to the small bathroom where they’d squeezed together under the spray.  
  
Her hand squeeze the doorframe in an iron grip as she stands letting the memories wash over her. The other hand rubs idly against the inside of her marked middle finger, dangling loosely at her side. Memories of love and belonging. Of certainty. A feeling of completeness. Her wandering mind’s journey enhanced by the palpably soft hum of their bond.  
  
“What are you doing?” the deep baritone voice of Ben startles her. He’s standing in the dome’s doorway staring at her, head cocked to the side in curiosity. His own gloved finger moves to rub imperceptibly at his middle finger. She wonders if he can feel the hum of the bond too, if he’s also flooded with memories.  
  
She wants to reach out, to remove her helmet and hug him … or punch him … or fucking kiss those impossibly plump lips of his to make up for _eight years_ of not having him.  
  
But that would be foolish right now. If she punches him, she’ll risk getting booted from the program and being blacklisted for space travel. And to add insult to injury, if he is in fact, not here for her, she’ll be stuck on Earth to live out the rest of her days drowning in memories of everything she’s lost. If she hugs or kisses him and he’s moved on … well that would hurt.   
  
The best course of action is to wait a little longer. Find out what he’s looking for and maybe then decide how to act. At least if she’ll have to suffer she can walk away with a shred of dignity.  
  
“Protocol security sweep, sir,” she salutes, her academy persona clicking into place with practiced ease.  
  
He grabs the duffle bag and inspects it, “you didn’t throw this around, did you?” His voice is soft but his face is angry. Contorted in a way that’s an odd mixture of fury and resignation.  
  
“N-no sir, set it down on the table with utmost care, sir.”  
  
“Good,” his hand runs tenderly over the zipper, “good. It contains … precious mementos.”  
  
Well now she’s just curious. Her head tilts in the bag’s direction in anticipation.  
  
“Pi Gamma?” his eyes lift to hers and for a brief moment she feels like he can see her. And in turn she sees him. All of him. All the sadness he carries that so easily reflects the one she carries. How easy it would be to take her helmet off and leave that sadness behind, show her face and remind him he’s not alone. That he’s always had her. Will _always_ have her.  
  
“I’d like to get settled in if you don’t mind. If you’ve finished the sweep that is,” his voice is impossibly soft. Heavy and tired. He looks on the verge of tears.  
  
Or that…

  
  


…

  
  


They’ll definitely be spending at least one night. After Ben shut the door she took the shift outside of the guest dome, Psi Delta took to walking a close 20m perimeter, and Finn was God knows where inside the shuttle. Quite frankly she might be mildly annoyed at having asked for him in the first place. He should be counting his blessings he’s here instead of sanitation, but … what was that line General Solo used when he made speeches at the academy?   
  
_C’est la vie_. _You play the cards you’re dealt.  
  
_ Ben had come out of the guest dome just as the sun began kissing the horizon and trudged into the main house. Sweeping past her like she was nothing short of invisible. Psi Delta content with his perimeter walks, joined Finn inside the shuttle while Rey shifted to guarding the main Skywalker dome. The pilot, she assumes, was already sprawled out inside the confines of the shuttle sending reports back to the station.  
  
There’s crackle in her helmet before Psi Delta’s voice hails her.  
  
“Pi Gamma.”  
  
“Copy.”  
  
“You okay to take a short shift?”  
  
“Sure thing, I’m already stationed.”  
  
“Alright, Xi Iota will relieve you in an hour.”  
  
The comm goes quiet and her ears are filled with the sounds of rustling corn stalks and crickets. The sky above painted in shades of red, orange and pink. Funny, she thinks, this is the first time in a _long_ time she’s noticed the colours of a sunset.  
  
From inside, she can hear murmurs of happy conversation, plates and glasses clinking, chairs scraping. There’s the soft sound of a kiss and Jacen’s voice saying, “thank you darling, hurry back.”  
  
Only a few moments later, the door creaks open and Tenel walks out holding a platter of cornbread, boiled chicken and yam. Luckily, the scent doesn’t waft past the helmet’s filters, otherwise her stomach would rumble because, well, Rey hasn’t eaten since breakfast. And sure, she’d eaten at least 3 agent’s worth of food but that doesn’t replace three meals.   
  
The doctor at the academy had told her she’d been malnourished, no doubt the results of living a meagre life as a humble farmer’s daughter. So she’d taken it upon herself to remedy that diagnosis with eating as much as possible whenever it was available. And at the academy, meals were always served as a buffet.  
  
She should initiate a med scan to see how her blood sugar is doing, God knows her body is running on fumes. But then again her shift is almost up and she can gorge on protein packs.  
  
“You’re Pi Gamma, right?”  
  
“Yes ma’am,” she confirms standing stock still on her guard.  
  
“Would you like me to prepare a plate for you out here?”  
  
“Oh…” Rey eyes the woman, her eyes soft and expectant. It makes her want to wrap her into an embrace for all her sweet concern, “no that’s alright. I’ll switch shifts shortly.”  
  
“Alright, I’ll make sure they save you some,” she begins walking towards the shuttle. Well, waddle would be a more appropriate term for her movements. Rey is surprised that she hasn’t given birth yet and mentally notes to keep an eye out in case her water breaks because she looks _close_ and aside from Beru, none of the men would know what to do.   
  
Tenel disappears inside the shuttle only briefly before making her way back to the house. She approaches Rey, smiling. Her hand falls gently on Rey’s missile loaded forearm, completely oblivious to the dangers of touching the compartment. Rey’s eyes dart to lock the trigger system immediately so they don’t fire by mistake.  
  
“Thank you for your service, by the way. It’s rare to see a female agent. Takes real guts.”  
  
Rey smiles again. Realizing Tenel can’t see, she quickly nods as the heavily pregnant woman shuffles through the door.   
  
How Jacen got so lucky, she’ll never know. The guy was a brooding nightmare on the best of days, even when they were children. Tenel is a dose of sunshine and Rey can only hope she’s brought some joy into his life. She promises herself she’ll make it her personal mission to ensure her safety during her stay here. Afterall, this pigtailed dose of sunshine is carrying her second mother’s grandchild.  
  
Her mind wanders to what it would be like to have a child. A prospect that had been so tangible all those years ago but seems so far away now. She wonders if Ben thinks the same. If the little bundle in Tenel’s body makes him sad or elicits a twang of jealousy like within herself.  
  
Is he thinking of everything they could have had? Or is he completely indifferent to the beautiful, simple life they could have built?  
  
 _You don’t know why he’s here, Rey.  
  
_ “She didn’t take it?” Ben’s voice rings clearly out of the house, her auditory amplifiers honing into the conversation inside. He sounds distraught.   
  
“No, she didn’t want it,” Jacen’s voice answers. He, on the other hand sounds contrite. There’s a soft clatter like cutlery is being dropped onto a plate.  
  
“I don’t believe that. What did she say?”  
  
“Nothing,” Jacen’s voice drops a bit and there might be a shred of doubt or worry in his voice, “just that she didn’t want it.”  
  
“Impossible.”  
  
“What makes you say that, Ben?” Owen’s voice, much older now joins the discussion.  
  
“It just … it’s not her. It doesn’t fit,” Ben answers ruefully.   
  
“Well, she did seem down for a long time after you left,” Beru chimes in.  
  
And doesn’t her heart stutter in her chest because … could it be?  
  
“Then why wouldn’t she take it?” Ben practically whines the question, distress more prominent in his tone.  
  
“She was upset, Ben, as you can imagine. In fact, she moved away about 3 years ago.”   
  
_He’s here for you_.  
  
The sounds of Ben’s lamenting wail fills her ears, then silence. Quiet sounds of chewing and the soft clatter of cutlery on plates fill the span of time after his cry.  
  
Eight years he waited to come down to Earth. 3 years since she moved away. Can it be true?  
  
“Moved? Ok I’ll give you that she might have been upset. But we’ve never _not_ talked for more than a day. I simply can’t accept that she didn’t take it.”  
  
There are murmurs, too low for her to understand. She hears Tenel’s lilting voice say something along the lines of ‘if she loved him she’d have taken it’. More murmurs and Ben’s voice repeating the word ‘impossible’ multiple times. There’s the rustling of clothing and the shuffling of chairs.  
  
“What _is_ that?” Owen’s voice booms with an edge of shock, “did you get a tattoo?”  
  
“No it’s a sou-”  
  
Her built-in comm crackles, drowning out the conversation she was tuned into.  
  
“Pi Gamma? Rey? Come in?”  
  
Annoyance floods her. Inter-agent communication always takes precedence over anything her helmet is zoned onto and right now she’s being interrupted. She’d like to continue listening in. From what it sounded like, Ben had been on the precipice of admitting he was here for her and that would at least set her mind at ease.   
  
Her imperial training would justify her intense need to eavesdrop as a practical application of security. The real reason is that she wants to hear her name. Wants to make sure what she’s listening to is in actuality about them. Only then can she find a sliver of peace and decide on how to move forward.  
  
“Copy,” the answer comes out bitten, snippy.  
  
“Coming to relieve you now. Poe says he can see you swaying. You okay?”  
  
Swaying? She’s fucking _fine_.  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“You need to eat before you collapse. I can see your blood pressure’s dropped,” Psi Delta interjects.  
  
And before she knows it, before she’s had a chance to run a med scan to prove them wrong and get back to listening, she may have collapsed. Things seem to liquefy from there. Short bursts of conscious moments and actions.  
  
She remembers Psi Delta’s arms carrying her into the shuttle. The pilot removing her helmet and forcing water to her lips. Psi Delta (whose face she now sees for the first time, an older man who says his name is Wedge) breaking cornbread into chunks, stuffing boiled chicken into the middle and gingerly handing it to her. Being laid out on a bench inside the Lambda. A blanket.  
  
The last conscious thought she has is Jacen’s voice gasping ‘soulmate mark’.

  
  


…

  
  


It’s dark. Well, the shuttle’s dark with the exception of the soft lights of its interior lumination system set to night and the moonlight streaming through the open ramp door. Across from her Finn is curled up in a sleeping bag on a portable cot. As is the pilot. Her mouth tastes like vomit and her head throbs.  
  
 _Blood pressure’s dropping_.  
  
She pushes herself up from the bench gingerly, searching for the chronometer above the cockpit to confirm the time. 0400. She’ll need to take the shift soon.   
  
Ever so quietly she stuffs an abandoned piece of stale cornbread into her mouth, rumages for a protein packet and softly pads to the onboard refresher. When the door whirrs shut she rips into the protein packet while the sonic powers on.  
  
She’s got a long day ahead of her, one that could change the trajectory of the life she thought she’d been condemned to live. It might seem silly, but she’d like to at least feel clean facing the firing squad today.  
  
Stuffing the last of the protein pack into her mouth and shucking out of her suit, she steps into the sonic to remove the lingering scent of cold sweat and graphene. The ultrasonic vibrations nudge her skin, massaging her in microscopic movements and lifting the dirt off, leaving her feeling refreshed. It’s a small mercy considering the weight of today but she’ll take it.  
  
24 hours ago she thought she’d have to wait, well, 24 hours for an answer from Dr. Skywalker. 20 hours ago she’d been given a career building mission by Senator Leia Organa-Solo. 12 hours ago she was faced with the person who both completed her and cast her aside.  
  
12 hours ago she was sure she was angry with him. Sure that he wanted nothing to do with her. Except every minute spent in his presence soothed that anger out of her. Stroked the tattered strings of their bond, reminding her of just how much she’s tethered to him. With every passing minute, with every overheard conversation, one resounding thought kept ringing in her mind.  
  
 _He came back for you_.  
  
She quietly exits the stall, slides into her suit, fastens her plates and exits the refresher, making sure to turn off the lights before triggering the door. With utmost stealth, she pads through the Lambda’s interior to collect her helmet and inhale another protein pack.  
  
“She lives,” a hoarse voice murmurs from the corner. The pilot.  
  
Rey stares at him for a moment, caught sneaking through the shuttle without a helmet before she has the courage to speak. She fleetingly thinks she must look like a deer in headlights, then remembers her manners. “Thank you … for taking care of me last night.”  
  
“S’alright. Happens to the best of us. It was a pretty fucked up day,” the pilot sits up, reaching behind him to scratch the back of his neck and stretch. His eyes drift to the chronometer then his face drops into a scowl.  
  
“I should have performed routine med scans,” she admits quietly while ripping into the protein pack. It’s true, she should have. The GxSuits are so good at keeping you in motion, at jostling your body to perform at peak that it’s recommended you routinely pull up your medical data to ensure you’re within safe zones. You could easily push your body to the limit wearing one without realizing anything is wrong. Until it’s too late, that is. Last night being a shining example.   
  
The pilot chuckles quietly, leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially, “hey, at least we don’t have to wonder what you look like under that helmet. Gotta say I didn’t expect you to be so … pretty.” As if to accentuate his point he waves his hand around his face.   
  
Rey scoffs, stuffing the tasteless hardened paste into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “Aren’t you engaged or something?” She cocks her eyebrow as she chews.  
  
The pilot performs a very skilled rendition of a laugh to cover his yawn. “I am. Just stating facts. So you _could_ hear everything, huh?”  
  
Rey nods casually, wishing he’d just go back to sleep but also mildly curious to get to know this Poe Dameron that Ben grew up with.  
  
“Actually … I might just know someone whose type you might be.”  
  
Rey scoffs again. There was plenty of fooling around at the academy. She didn’t partake in any of it, couldn’t really. Proximity to anyone in even the remotest semblance of intimacy made her physically ill. But it didn’t stop busy bodies from trying to set her up. The station and its people, it seems, aren’t so different.  
  
“Seriously though,” the pilot starts again in a hushed tone, “don’t push yourself so hard. I know Ben was … _eeh_ , harsh. But you’re doing a great job. Don’t wreck yourself on his account.”  
  
She nods, taking another bite of the protein pack.  
  
“I’m sure you heard but … he’s had a rough few years. Been really sad,” the pilot’s head drops to look at the ground, “I wish I could have done something to help him but he’s looking for something. No, _someone_. That’s why we’re here. And … if we find her, maybe he’ll apologize and you’ll all get to meet the Ben I know.”  
  
At that she snickers, pushing the rest of the paste into her mouth and scooping her helmet off the table.  
  
“I’ll go relieve Psi Delta. Thanks for the chat Dameron.”  
  
And relieve Psi Delta she did. With the sun’s rays beginning to peek over the horizon, a foggy mist curling between the stalks of corn, she walked a tight perimeter for a while before settling in front of the guest dome to keep watch. At 0530 she hears Owen and Beru waking up to start their day. At 0550 she hears footsteps stirring in Jacen’s dome and a toilet flushing. At 0600 she hears rustling inside the guest dome. Sheets shifting and feet softly touching the floor.  
  
A whisper brushes against her ear, enhanced by the auditory amplifiers in her helmet yet still soft enough to be barely audible.  
  
 _I miss you_.  
  
There’s the soft sound of footsteps walking around the dome, the turning of knobs, the spray of a shower. She turns to the rising sun, seeing to her dismay that the sky had taken on a red tinge. An impending storm might be brewing but her sensors indicate no such readings.  
  
 _Pfft, technology doesn’t know everything_.  
  
‘Red sky in the morning, better take warning,’ her father used to say.  
  
She must have zoned out daydreaming about her father’s platitudes because the door behind her creaks open. Ben steps out and she can barely contain her need to reach out and hug him. No, punch him. No, _definitely_ hug him. Because she wants him. Without a shred of doubt she still wants to be his. Whatever pain the last 8 years brought they can work through it, _together_.  
  
His eyes are red and his shoulders hunched. The dark rims around his eyes more pronounced, like he’s either just cried or barely slept all night. Or maybe both.   
  
_Why are you here_?  
  
He clears his throat as soon as he sees her, tucking his chin low as though he’s embarrassed. Maybe he’s trying to hide his very obvious sadness in his current state. “Have you eaten?”  
  
Rey nods in response, transfixed by just how close he is right now. The bond hums around her, filling the air in her ears and she wonders if he feels and hears it too.  
  
His ears twitch, just visible under the freshly washed mop of hair she loves so much. Looking down to the ground he shakes his head like he’s trying to clear voices. “Right, I’ll just…” he nods his head towards the main house, an invitation to walk with him, “I’ll need to go about two miles out. Not too far.”  
  
“There’s a speeder in the Lambda, it fits two. Will that serve your needs sir?”  
  
What the fuck is wrong with her? He needs a hug not mission specific discussion. She can _see_ how badly he’s hurting.  
  
 _He misses you_.  
  
“That’ll do just fine. Thank you, Pi Gamma.”  
  
And of course she can’t stop her training from continuing its verbal assault on his poor soul, “you’ll need to bring an agent, sir. For security. Unfortunately you won’t be able to take one of your hosts or the pilot.”  
  
“No. Of course not…” they stop outside of the main home and he turns to her then, all 6’3 of broadness and pure sorrow, “Thank you for … understanding. I … you will be accompanying me as security lead?”  
  
“If that is your wish,” her heart is hammering in her chest, beating against her skull.   
  
_Get your fucking shit together and comfort your soulmate.  
  
_ He nods once, “I … it is,” then slides into the house.  
  
Finn comes to take over while she prepares the speeder. It’s a sleek TIE model, similar to the taxis she’s seen in Coruscant but fitted with shields and constructed wholly of blaster-proof graphene.   
  
By the time she’s maneuvered the craft to the side, supercharged it in the early morning sun, and prepared a day’s worth of rations (‘just in case’ as Captain Rex used to say), Ben appears behind her looking a little better and carrying his duffle.  
  
“Mind if I drive?”  
  
“Not at all, sir,” she responds shakily, thankful for the helmet’s modulator that keeps her voice steady “I’ve already taken the liberty to prepare the speeder.”  
  
So without further preamble, he slings his bag into the back, slides into the driver side and powers on the speeder. Rey slides in beside him, tucking her blaster into her side and flipping the shields. Sure, it’s a major battery drain but he said it’s only two miles and … well, safety first on a mission. They’re probably going to the outpost.  
  
 _Your family home is about two miles away_.  
  
He maneuvers the speeder onto the dirt road and shifts it into forward motion.  
  
“Psi Delta?”  
  
“Copy.”  
  
“Will ping you a location upon arrival.”  
  
“What’s your estimated return?”  
  
“Unknown.” She chances a glance at Ben who’s sporting a look of utter determination.  
  
“Copy. Will wait for further instruction.”

  
  


…

  
  


Maybe the masochist in her didn’t want to believe in happy endings. Having spent years without him she’d wholeheartedly convinced herself that he had some ulterior motive for visiting this impoverished corner of Earth. But when the speeder slowed and turned into the driveway of her old home, her body began visibly shaking. Even the suit couldn’t control her visceral reaction to this epiphany.  
  
Ben barely waited for the speeder to stop before he bound out. Running at full speed towards the ramshackle old house that stood boarded up and destitute. Abandoned long ago when love stopped flowing through the thin slab of weathered wood covering the doorway.   
  
She shakily pushes out of the speeder, pressing the location button on the side of her helmet to drop a pin to the shuttle with their location. Receipt confirmation flashes across her visor.   
  
She stands on shaky feet beside the speeder, looking at the house she used to call a home. Blocking painful memories while keeping track of Ben. Inside, his feet thump anxiously. There’s a sneeze. The creaking of stairs. A muffled _fuck_.  
  
Around her she can see the winds have shifted, is reminded of that fact by her visor _finally_ suggesting an incoming storm.  
  
Ben’s black clad frame appears in the door. Filling out the doorway so wholly now that he’s grown into his frame. He looks visibly shaken. Expression stricken and at his wit’s end. His eyes dart briefly to her and all she sees is pain.  
  
 _He’s here for you_.  
  
His feet thud determinedly down the crumbling porch stairs, around the side to the back of the house where her parents lie alongside her grandmother. Where the old oak tree probably still stands unbending, unbroken. She follows out of sense of duty but her heart hammers against her rib cage, knowing what he’ll find and dreading the discovery.   
  
_He’s here for you!_  
  
Her brain and her heart are screaming. Everything she’s needed these eight long years is right in front of her. _Take the helmet off. Show him you’re here.  
  
_ She finds him kneeling between the graves, hands resting gently on the weather worn crosses. Head bowed, back shaking with quiet sobs. She hears him sniffle. Hears him quietly whisper, “I’m sorry Mr. Niima. I’m so sorry I let you down.”  
  
She’s standing there, watching him mourn her family, the writing crystal clear on the wall and yet she still can’t find her voice. Can’t believe this is real and he’s here for _her_. Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? He’s come back.  
  
 **Storm System moving in: 158mph SSE  
** **Cover Highly Recommended  
  
** “Pi Gamma?”  
  
“Copy.”  
  
Ben stands up, wiping his face with his gloved hands as he walks past her. His eyes trained to the ground in a barely veiled attempt at disguising his anguish.  
  
“Did you see the incoming storm?” It’s the pilot’s voice and she could kick him right now for interrupting. Right there on the verge of _something_.  
  
“Affirmative.”  
  
“Return immediately.”  
  
“Copy that. Collecting Solo.”  
  
She turns on her heels breaking into a sprint towards the speeder where Ben is standing. His body looks like it’s given up. Slumped forward gripping the edge of the craft. He must have heard her footsteps on the gravel, or her suit whirring. Whatever the cue, he turns around defeated.  
  
Without preamble, without thinking, Rey reaches up to unclip her helmet, pulling it off her head in one fell swoop.  
  
No more guessing. No more questioning or pretending. No more lies.  
  
His face goes from wrecked to surprised anguish in the matter of seconds. Wind whipping dangerously around them. Tumbling her hair around her face and the cape at his back.  
  
Before her, Ben collapses to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up ... a steaming hot plate full of 🥊🔔🥊
> 
> Oh yeah, it's blowing up.


	15. Why Are You Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I-I‘ve imagined seeing you again for so long. Played the words I’d say in my head, but … in none of my imaginings was it like this. No … wait. I’m doing it wrong. Rey?”_
> 
> _He chances a glance up at her, eyes expectant and misty. Hands trembling at her side. God if she isn’t the most beautiful creature he’s had the fortune to lay eyes on. Enveloped in the gleaming silver of her graphene plated suit and framed by the dark storm clouds in the distance. Like a battle angel come to collect her dues._
> 
> _“I was so sure we had a future, when I left. So sure you and I were unbreakable and then … when I didn’t hear from you it, it broke my heart. I’ve been so lonely. I’ve missed you. The sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch … the feel of you in my arms. I … no I’m still not doing this right.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah sweet resolution. For the record, I’d like to point out that I had every intention of having them battle it out. Except IDK … I can’t write them fighting. It just doesn’t fit them. So the whole thing just turned soft. That’s it! No more angst. We’ve got a few confrontations and introductions (and an epilogue) but we’re out of the woods <3
> 
> And also ... chapter count's going up. LOL @ the days I thought this was gonna be a 15 chapter piece. But good news - I'm writing Ch. 18 ATM so will be updating daily.
> 
> We'll be sticking to Ben's POV from now on. Just to balance things out.

Ben had no idea what to expect from today. He’d made an utter fool of himself in front of his security detail, slipped to Poe about his reason, and was given the worst news possible. And that was only the first few hours of the mission he’s waited a lifetime for. If today kept the same trajectory (and why wouldn’t it), he can expect more embarrassment and disappointment.  
  
Of course, his security lead Pi Gamma has been nothing but forgiving. He knew very well they heard his less-than-kind ramble and yet there she was, professional as can be even in spite of belittling her. Offering up choices for his covert trip and asking no questions. She even let _him_ choose his escort.  
  
He’d like to say he chose her because she was the epitome of professionalism and, of course, the security lead. But deep down there was something about her that stirred something in him that had long been dormant. He’d convinced himself it was the way her agent name looked - **𝜋𝜀𝛾**. _Not_ the fact that her proximity charged the air.   
  
So of course it comes as a complete and utter shock when he sees _her_. From finding the old house completely abandoned to discovering the graves of her family, he was already primed for heartache, but nothing prepared him for the outright assault on his senses that followed.  
  
Between the wind howling, the way his blood is pounding in his ears, the way he feels utterly numb from head to toe and is even rocking a bit of a cold sweat - he’s surprised he hasn’t fainted (yet). Or, oddly enough, started drooling, unable to swallow back his own saliva. Because his salivary glands have chosen this exact moment to start pumping out vats of the stuff into his mouth. Like he’s getting ready to hurl. Wait, is he?   
  
Falling to his knees, too, is another completely unexpected reaction. Maybe a result of his body going absolutely numb from shock? Or because subconsciously he’d convinced himself this was the only appropriate greeting when he finally got to see her face again.  
  
The minute that helmet came off and the wind began whipping her long hair around _that face,_ his adrenal glands decided that, yep, this is the right moment to expel a lifetime’s worth of its finest export. The surge rendering him … well … boneless. He knows adrenaline is supposed to get you ready for fight or flight, but in his case the sheer volume has left him completely numb and skirting the edge of a coma.  
  
From this angle far below her, he can see everything he’s missed all this time. After so long, after so many years of yearning she’s there, _finally_ there. Right in front of him. Practically unchanged.   
  
Her cheeks have lost the last remnants of her youthful pudge and carved into beautifully delicate angles. Though he knows she must have undergone a rigorous training routine at the academy, her tanned skin and his favourite freckles have remained unchanged. Like she’d been able to bottle sunlight and bathe in it throughout the program. Her hair is longer, the rich chestnut more vivid now that the sun wasn’t bleaching it every day. It looks just as soft as in his dreams, just as soft as he remembers. Even though her lips are pressed into a tight line he can still see the plushness he could never forget, the small pink flip of her Cupid’s bow. Her eyes still marvellously big. Dazzling shades of green, warm browns and streaks of gold. But the eyes he remembers were glimmering pools of happiness. The ones looking back at him now are filled with something he recognizes from within himself - a deep seated sadness. A loneliness of which he is the cause.  
  
Her adult features and glare are so striking it sends an electric shock straight through his heart. So now he’s physically incapacitated, possibly on the verge of expelling his breakfast and he’s pretty sure his heart’s stopped beating. His body is making sure he dies right now, in front of her. It’s the only reasonable explanation. And wouldn’t that be a way to go? At her feet where he belongs.  
  
His eyes trace the curvature of her face, darting back and forth hungrily, committing her to memory for when she inevitably walks away from him for good. Or he finally slips into that coma. Or he croaks permanently. Or he wakes up from what he’s starting to assume might be a dream. Whichever comes first.  
  
“Rey,” is all he musters. All he can croak out and even that, barely above a whisper. He might be crying. It’s hard to tell with how numb he feels. All his blood has chosen to drain from his body and concentrate in his ear canal to pound a deafening rhythm. There’s wetness on his face but maybe it’s just a raindrop?  
  
His fingers itch to reach out to her. To touch her. To quell the thirst he’s been living with for 8 _long_ years. To finally realize every fantasy he’s lived with for all this time.  
  
 _Just one touch_.

His eyes are glued to her, barely blinking for fear she’ll disappear. Fearing this is a cruel dream and he at its utter mercy. But even if it is a dream, he’ll stay in it as long as he can. Squeeze every second it offers to fuel his waking fantasies.  
  
Ben has an epiphany, just then: he’s lived life after her like a sieve. Letting time flow through him, yet never capturing a moment since they separated. If he were a membrane, the loss of her had punctured innumerable holes into his very fabric. Nothing had value. Like water seeping through unchallenged, everything flowed offering zero sustenance. The only thing he looked to capture was her and she wasn’t there. Until now that is. Now he suddenly feels full. Sated. The metaphorical membrane suddenly filled with that which it was made to catch. Because she’s _really_ here.  
  
Her nostrils flare, chest rising and falling and he’s acutely aware their bond might be humming in the air. No it’s the wind. Blood pounding in his ears? Yeah. That. One of those.  
  
The inside of his middle finger burns hot but he doesn’t move. Can’t. Pinned down by her eyes like a foreign specimen in the xenology department of the station’s academic wing. Splayed out for the scientists to prod and study. Theorizing on habitat and mating cycles, value to human colonization and dangers to precious livestock. Which is kind of what her glare feels like. As though she’s studying him. Or maybe, she too is drinking him in, unable to believe they’re here, _together_.  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
She speaks. And oh if angels flew down on storm clouds he’d happily perish today, letting them whisk him off on their cumulus steed. Because he hadn’t even realized that the sound of her voice is the very balm to heal his soul. He’s so stricken by the sound of her voice, he doesn’t even register her words. Blinking up at her dumbly, still in utter shock and awe. A grave error judging by how her lips press just a little tighter. How her chin juts at him, raising just a little higher in an adorable flash of determination.  
  
“Why are you here?” Her voice rings louder, clearer, surging above the noise of the incoming storm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. Each word separated by pauses to let them sink in. The tone harsh and angry. And yet, there’s the soft edge of longing underneath it all. Like the sweetest fruit wrapped in a prickly, hard shell.  
  
He blinks again, still astonished at her presence but each word begins resonating in his skull. It bounces around until it sticks. _Why. Are. You. Here.  
  
_ _Oh.  
  
_ It dawns on him then. She doesn’t want to see him. She’s annoyed with his presence. And if _that’s_ not a stab straight through the heart. Loving her has been the only thing keeping him sane, though barely. Seeing proof of her disgust with him is utterly crushing. Worse than being subjected to the vacuum of space.  
  
But this _is_ what he came for, isn’t it? He knew down to the marrow in his bones she was finished with him. He didn’t come here to try and chase some fairytale ending. _Knows_ that it’s over. He can take a little more pain to get this out. At least lay himself out one final time and say what he needs to say. Set himself up so that in the future, if she deigns he’s worthy of another shot, the groundwork will have been laid.  
  
With all the strength he can marshal, he shakily admits the truth, “I-I came back … for you. I needed to see…”  
  
Her voice cuts through him like an icy dagger. It’s cold and furious. “It’s been eight years, _Ben._ Eight _fucking_ years,” she screeches, “you can’t just drop out of the sky and expect-”  
  
And this is the first time he sees her, really sees her. Through his fog of want and need, the wisps of longing clinging to his mind clear to let him see her how she truly is. The rosy sheen of fantasy stripped to expose only the truth of her.  
  
In front of him. Stricken. Sad.  
  
“-expect everything to be the same.”  
  
With her cold words she’s managed to dispel the silver edges, the shiny gloss he’s painted her memory with to remind him that she too has suffered. Proof written cleanly on her features. Her eyes are glassy, the corners of her mouth quiver and her chest stutters.  
  
Her body’s visibly shaking and he _knows_ those suits have built-in nanobots that could revive the dead. _Knows_ they keep your body steady long after steady isn’t an option anymore. And yet, through all the technology wrapped around her slight frame, she’s still visibly shaking.   
  
_She still loves you.  
  
_ “Rey, please,” he reaches out a hand in some pathetic gesture, an imploring sort of last ditch effort, “let me get this out and … if-if you never want to see me again I’ll understand.”  
  
He won’t. But he’ll accept her decision because … well, his love for her is unconditional and he’ll suffer if it makes her happy. He’ll lay in the bed of her choosing, even if it’s made of rusty nails.  
  
Her frown deepens, the sides of her mouth twitch down further and as much as he wants to see her smile again, these minute shifts on her expression give him hope. Just the slightest bit - that maybe she _doesn’t_ want to never see him again. That _that’s_ what she’s frowning at.  
  
His gaze drops to the ground where packed earth and loose gravel mix. Is this the same ground he’d walked a hundred times all those years ago? Do these grains remember the weight of him? The weight of love he carried for her? Do they remember their kisses? Their promises? Can they give him the strength to do what he has to do?  
  
One deep shuddering breath comes in. He braces himself, ready to lay it all out while his heart pumps erratically. Silence spreads thickly between them as he prepares, broken only by the rolling of thunder at a distance and the occasional whipping gust of wind.  
  
“I-I‘ve imagined seeing you again for so long. Played the words I’d say in my head, but … in none of my imaginings was it like this. No … wait. I’m doing it wrong. Rey?”  
  
He chances a glance up at her, eyes expectant and misty. Hands trembling at her side. God if she isn’t the most beautiful creature he’s had the fortune to lay eyes on. Enveloped in the gleaming silver of her graphene plated suit and framed by the dark storm clouds in the distance. Like a battle angel come to collect her dues.  
  
“I was so sure we had a future, when I left. So sure you and I were unbreakable and then … when I didn’t hear from you it, it broke my heart. I’ve been so lonely. I’ve missed you. The sound of your voice, the warmth of your touch … the feel of you in my arms. I … no I’m still not doing this right.”  
  
He’s shaking his head, looking down at the ground again to catch his bearings. Like the gravel will know. Like it’ll have answers or procure one of his more impassioned speeches from the last 8 years.   
  
One deep breath in, hold, release. Another in, counting to 5. Another release. He raises his head solemnly to meet her eyes. A new calm has settled over him, the resolve filtering into the nervous cracks. He _knows_ now. He _knows_ what he has to do and is collecting the strength to do it.  
  
Her lips are parted and her hair is swirling in the wind and he wants nothing more than to close the distance and hug her. Just one last time because she looks about to walk away. And rightly so. He doesn’t deserve her. He never did. He’d let them start off with a lie and the choice to let it linger is finally blowing up in his face. Has been since he left. A loud groan escapes his throat, sounding like a wounded animal about to expire.  
  
“I lied,” he tries again defeated, “I know. I gave you a false name and a false history but _please_ believe me, everything else was real. I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t. And I know you won’t forgive me … I wouldn’t even deserve it. I-I can’t even forgive myself. But m-maybe one day, when you find it in you … just … just know I still love you.”  
  
He lets his head fall, lets his eyes drop back to the ground because he doesn’t deserve to look at her.

She’s everything he’s ever wanted.

She’s everything he’ll never have.  
  
A lightning bolt lights up the sky in the distance and he subconsciously starts counting. Something to tear himself away from the ache blooming in his chest. The rumble comes - 10 seconds. 2 miles. He has 2 miles before she leaves him for good. 2 miles of storm coverage before it’s all over, forever. All his wishing and dreaming, washed away by the torrential rain the storm promises. Except he won’t feel replenished. He’ll be an old spider unable (unwilling) to spin a new web because his original was the only masterpiece he’ll ever know.  
  
“I’ve never stopped loving you, and I never will,” he starts again, heaving a long, reluctant sigh, “all this time I’ve wanted nothing more than to come back down here. I’ve fought and begged for just the chance. All this time I dreamt of what I’d say when I finally found you again and … I just want to tell you, I-I’m sorry.”  
  
He hears sniffling and he thinks it might be him until he hears her voice, small and pained, “then why did you leave?”  
  
 _She still loves you_.  
  
His eyes flit up because, can it be? The little sliver of hope he’s been carrying around rears it’s head proudly. The little fire his uncle meticulously stroked flares and roars to life. It feels like a splinter finally removed. It’s glorious and pure, like stepping into the light after spending a lifetime underground. Hope, real and tangible blooms in the place where the ache was throbbing.  
  
And her _face_. Tears stream freely down her cheeks. Fat droplets dangling from her perfect little jaw and he wants to run over and hug her and wipe them away because she’d _let_ him. He can _feel_ her want.  
  
“Please, sweetheart, believe me I … I had no choice,” he’s pleading and he knows it, but for her he’ll beg proudly, over and over and over. “We were supposed to have more time then … then my mother sent a transport and they threatened to knock me out and take me and I … I didn’t know what to do so I left you the paired comm and a note and - and then I didn’t hear from you I just … I began down this dark path.”  
  
He’s rambling and he knows it. Words flowing and tripping over each other in a quest for centre stage. He wants to tell her everything, all of it, all at once.  
  
“I understand you were upset and every day I didn’t hear from you I just … became angrier and angrier. At myself, at my family, at _everyone_. But mostly just myself because I … the one good thing I had, the - _you_. I lost _you_ and pushed you away because I wasn’t honest and … _fuck_ what am I saying?”  
  
His fists ball at his sides as another lightning bolt paints the sky. He counts 7 seconds until the rumble shakes the ground beneath their feet. 1.4 miles. Get it out Ben.  
  
“I’m so sorry, Rey. Please if-if you have it in you to forgive me I … we can be friends or acquaintances or … _anything_ but, I’d rather have you in my life, in _any_ way you’re comfortable with than spend another day without you.”  
  
Because he _will_. He’ll stay on the fringes, stay at whatever distance she chooses as long as he can be in her vicinity. It might be painful, nay - _will be_ painful to watch her move on, but what choice does he have? Between not having her at all and at least remaining in her orbit, however wide the berth, there’s only one logical choice.  
  
“ _Friends?!_ ” Her wail pierces the rolling thunder, loud and indignant, hurt on a primal level. “You … we,” she rips her glove off and splays her fingers displaying the little infinity mark he’s longed to press his own against. She holds her hand up, trembling “all of _this_ and you want to be _friends?_ ”  
  
 _SHE STILL LOVES YOU.  
  
_ “You never contacted me so I- I assumed you hated me and rightfully s…”  
  
“ _I_ never contacted you? How? _How_ could I do that? _You_ never contacted _me_!” Her shriek is desperate, like two voices overlaid. One pitched to rattle glass, the other hoarse and broken.  
  
He’s confused. And he knows she knows because the look she gives him is nothing short of incredulous. He’s blinking, mouth slack and ready to make _some_ kind of noise but nothing comes. He has no words.  
  
“Whatever paired comm you _claim_ to have left you never did. You left me, Ben. You _left_ me,” her voice trembles, pitching down to a broken whisper while fresh tears spring from her beautiful eyes, “you left me behind like I’m nothing. Nobody.” Her voice is filled with sorrow, body beginning to curl in on itself, making itself smaller.  
  
And that about breaks his spirit. _Fuck_ the fear of rejection. _Fuck_ whether she wants him or not. _Fuck_ whatever heartbreak he might be walking into. Right now the only person that’s ever mattered is shattering before his eyes.  
  
Without hesitating, he stands and closes the distance. Not a muscle stutters or twitches in his single minded pursuit. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her close. Whatever reservations he’s had don’t matter anymore because this, _this_ feels right.  
  
She relaxes into him, body sagging even through the graphene plates of her suit. Face buried into his shoulder, wetting the coarse fabric of his tunic with her tears. His arms squeeze a little tighter, face burrows into her hair just a little more to waft the aroma of _her_.  
  
The bond hums and his heart is full and his soulmate is in his arms and it can’t get better than this. “You’re not nobody, Rey. Not to me,” he murmurs into the top of her head.  
  
And don’t her small hands wrap around his waist to hug him back just then. His heart beats so hard, so fast it threatens to tear his chest open. She must hear it, the gallop she’s started, thumping against his rib cage.   
  
There are so many emotions swirling in the air around them. Pulsing through the bond that’s never wavered, never dulled though eight years separated them. It only lay dormant waiting for its cue.  
  
Her nose nuzzles into his shoulder and he starts rocking their bodies. Enjoying the way their little bubble forms. Inch by inch it grows around them like a transparent shield, sealing them in from the outside world. He’s missed this so much. The way it dulls the sounds of the imminent storm. The pressure change in the air, the winds, the rumbles beneath their feet. The way everything feels whole within its confines. Outside the apocalypse may come, in here, it’s perpetual summer.  
  
“How come you didn’t want the comm?” A question whispered into the very top of her head where his lips press into her crown.  
  
“What comm?” She mumbles, the question muffled by the press of her face into his shoulder.  
  
Ben sighs, or maybe he’s just expelling the air in his lungs to take another satisfying inhale of _her_. Who’s going to judge him if it’s the latter anyway?   
  
“The paired comm. You didn’t take it … I understand you were mad but … we could have talked it out.”  
  
“Ben,” her face detaches from his shoulder and he _wants_ to protest this minute loss of contact. Except when their eyes meet hers are so wide, so honest it steals his breath. From this close he can see the kaleidoscope of colour in her irises. “You never left a comm.”   
  
It’s a statement. Pure and honest with no trace of denial. She’s not dodging or lying. Quite frankly it confuses the shit out of him.  
  
“Yeah I did,” the protest leaves his lips before he can consider the ramifications of pressing the issue, “I left that and a note with Jacen…”  
  
Her lips purse and her brows knit together, mulling his words over. “No he said … what did he say,” her head turns and searches the sky, like she’s reliving the memory in real-time, “he said you told him to tell me goodbye and … and that it was nice getting to know me.”   
  
She chokes at the end, chin warbling with unchecked sadness. His instincts are on autopilot and his hand drifts up to cup her cheek, thumb tracing her cheekbone and turning her face back to his. The eyes that greet him glisten with fresh tears.  
  
“H-he said,” one glimmering drop rolls down her cheek to catch on his thumb, her voice soft and broken, “he said you didn’t leave anything w-when I asked.”  
  
He takes a moment to look at her. How much this hurts her. Surely this was all a great mistake. Jacen gave his word, _promised_ , he’d deliver Ben’s meagre offering. He’d returned them just yesterday after breaking the news to him.   
  
Maybe he can show her and it’ll jog her memory. Maybe she was so upset she’d misunderstood Jacen when he’d offered it to her. He can understand that. They’d planned on working out the details and breaking the news to her family, then suddenly he was gone. _Of course_ she was upset. He doesn’t blame her.  
  
“Sweetheart, do you really think I could leave without ensuring we could talk?” It’s an honest question. Phrased gently but leaving no room for doubt. Because it’s true, he wouldn’t. _Couldn’t_.  
  
Her eyes dart between his briefly before they soften. “No. It wasn’t like you at all. I knew it couldn’t be like you but … that’s what he’d said. How could I argue?”  
  
“I promise I left it. In fact,” he softly nudges his chin towards the speeder, “I got them back from Jace. They’re in my bag now.”  
  
She searches his eyes, maybe the same way he’s searching hers. Because this doesn’t make any sense. Because if she didn’t know he’d left them, it can only mean…  
  
“Then show me,” she whispers, pressing her cheek into his open palm. Her eyes are so big, so expectant, he can’t deny her.  
  
When he was a child he’d wanted a dog. Spending hours pouring over images on his HoloPad of puppies and building a case to convince his parents to get one. Of course the answer was always a resounding no, regardless of how much kicking and screaming he did. As he grew older, his plan evolved. He had walks timed, a feeding schedule, researched vaccinations and training. Having a pet (specifically one as active as a dog) on the station was unheard of. The pets that did move through the station were always en route to their owners destinations but never stayed. And yet, no matter how many times he heard _no_ , he always fostered hope. He’s never been able to forget the big pleading puppy eyes he saw on his HoloPad. The images of big doe eyes and that adorable upward glance forever etched in his memory. Begging the owner behind the camera wordlessly.  
  
Those were her eyes now.  
  
His thumb sweeps across her cheek again. God how he’s _missed_ her. “You won’t take off or disappear or anything, right?”  
  
She laughs lightly. It’s small and uncertain but the corners of her mouth turn up just enough to light up her eyes. It makes his heart leap into his throat.  
  
“God I missed you.” Another truth. Raw and transparent. A string of words his mouth can’t contain any longer.  
  
It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard it physically hurts. No it’s _impossible_ to tear himself away from her. But he _has_ to show her. It’s okay if she didn’t see it. It’s okay if it slipped her mind in a moment of anger. He did this to her. He’ll make it better. And the way she’s open, the way she lets him touch her, the way _she_ touches _him_ holds so much promise.   
  
It's what spurs him into action. That little possibility. If he just shows her the truth of it, they’ll be on the path to recovery. They can work it out and start anew, _together_.  
  
He wrenches himself free with every ounce of determination in his body, striding to the speeder with purpose. His duffle bag lays safely nestled between the seats and he quickly pulls it out to unzip the small compartment at the front. The one he’d carefully tucked the comm and note into last night.   
  
He takes a moment to breathe, to catch his first real breath of air since he’s seen her. Standing there in front of her abandoned childhood home, a storm looming overhead, he glances at the two small mementos in his hand. They are the physical and undeniable proof he tried. Failed, but he’d tried nonetheless.  
  
Another flash of lightning bursts across the sky, drawing his eye up to fully appreciate the weather. The sight releases another rush of adrenaline (where is it all coming from?) and cold fear hits just like all those years ago when he’d seen his first funnel cloud.  
  
The sky above is an ominous blue black. The shades of it so dark it makes the landscape seem bright, like it’s lit from within. Clouds are rolling and shifting at alarming speeds, though not nearly as threatening as they were at the junkyard. Another jagged golden line rips across the sky just then, as if proving a point to Ben. Like a yellow scar being drawn against the soft curves of clouds. Barely a few seconds later the ground rumbles under his feet and the first light drops of rain begin to fall. They should probably find shelter soon.  
  
Behind him there’s a loud wailing sound. The same as the alarm on active helmets that are unmanned.  
  
 _Wait.  
  
_ He turns around to see that, yep, Rey’s helmet is the source of the alarm.   
  
“Pi Gamma? Why is your helmet off?” Poe’s voice rings through the speaker.  
  
Rey doesn’t seem to miss a beat, flipping on the external mic, “a … uh … bug got in ... somehow.”  
  
“Are you close?” Poe lets out a groan, then, “you haven’t _left_?” He’s probably checked the pin she dropped. It’s standard procedure after all. Poe’s frustration must be rooted in the fact that he’s realized they were still wherever she’d pinned their location.  
  
“He … hasn’t found what he was looking for,” she responds nonchalantly. And if only she knew, because _she’s_ what he came to find. But then she gives him a small smile and he _knows_ she knows. Which makes her little fib to Poe all the sweeter.  
  
“Well, don’t come back. Do you have shelter there?”  
  
Rey’s head rolls to the side, eyeing the old house. She turns a little more to look at the old barn and silo. Then full circle to look at the speeder. Her features are surprisingly calm. Then again, she’s weathered worse.  
  
 _She’s weathered 8 years without you_.  
  
“Maybe…” she draws out the m with a touch of uncertainty but she doesn’t appear worried. Then again, why would she be? His precious girl has faced funnel clouds and kept them safe, this is just an intense rainstorm. Ben’s not really sure when he’d become an expert weatherman. His best guess is in his time with Mr. Niima. That man would wake up in the morning and know exactly what to expect by just glancing out the window. Put him out on the porch and he’d be able to tell you how much moisture the vaporators would catch that day.  
  
“ _Maybe_?!” Poe’s sputtering, his tone indicating he’s flabbergasted, “that’s … that’s not a fuc- that’s not an answer!”  
  
“There are structures,” she says more confidently, “but I can’t guarantee their integrity. The speeder has shields and stabilizers though.”  
  
“Ben can’t … you can’t weather a storm in a _speeder_ …”  
  
There’s background noise, multiple voices speaking over each other and one sounding suspiciously like Owen’s. At the same time a gust of wind whips his cape over his head and he fumbles awkwardly to get it under control. The brief loss of the sight of her giving him a bit of a scare, but he won’t share that with her.  
  
“Ben’s uncle is asking to confirm you’re at the Niima stead?”  
  
Poe sounds confused and Ben can’t really blame him. This is some daytime holodrama gold he’s witnessing. The guy spends his time inside the cockpit of shuttles that are all but autonomous. He’s a glorified technical manual with a side of troubleshooter. Poe is, in short, a sit-back-and-let-the-machines-do-the-work kinda guy, so this must be a whole other level of new. His wires must be frazzled right now. Somehow that makes pride swell in his chest. A suppressed need to gloat that, _yep, she’s mine and she’s knocking down the guy who could use an ego check or two_.  
  
“Affirmative.”  
  
There’s more talking on the other side. Another flash of lightning, the rumble following almost immediately while the rain continues to patter around them lightly. Through the speaker he picks up words from his great-uncle like _maintained_ and _safe_.  
  
“Alright, Pi Gamma? He says the main house has been maintained. He recommends keeping to the main floor where it’s safest. Turn on the temperature regulator. It hasn’t been turned on in about a week so it might be a bit hot, but it’ll settle quickly. Bar the door and stay away from windows. There’s a power generator in the cold cellar, it needs time to boot up but it should give you enough electricity to make it through the storm.”  
  
“Copy that.”  
  
“Wait,” Poe barks before she can disconnect. He’s really starting to get on Ben’s nerves. No it’s the rain that’s started falling in earnest. The kind that’s quickly turning into a drenching sort. The kind they’re decidedly _not_ getting out of so that Poe can continue listening to the sound of his own voice. “Secure the speeder, will you?”  
  
“Obviously.”  
  
Ben rolls his eyes and glances at Rey to notice she’s mid roll too. God he _loves_ her.  
  
“Hey! No snark!”  
  
“Dameron, if you’re quite finished I have a diplomat to secure for a storm. As the security lead I believe I outrank you in terms of security decision right now. So if you don’t mind, I’ll take care of Solo, you secure the shuttle and the Skywalkers. Will comm when we’re safe.”  
  
She flips off the mic before Poe can even throw her an affirmative and doesn’t his heart swell? In the many years he’s known Poe, no ones been able to shut him down. Many have tried but ultimately failed. Ben himself has been one of those unlucky enough to see their wicked plans crumble against Dameron’s cocksure bravado. But Rey? She did it so easily. He could fucking _cry_ at how beautifully (and effortlessly) it was executed.  
  
It’s not that he doesn’t like Poe. Fuck he’s probably the closest thing he has to a best friend. It’s just that … Poe’s a bit of a, what had their 3rd grade teacher called him? _A trigger-happy_ _flyboy_. Oh that Mrs. Holdo.  
  
Rey tucks her helmet into her side and smiles a small knowing smile at him before she jogs to the speeder. Ben, in return, has melted into a puddle, barely having two neurons to string together. He does manage to grab his duffle before she hops into the driver side, expertly maneuvering the craft into the spot her old speeder used to occupy. Which, come to think of it, is oddly absent. He’ll need to ask her about it. That clunky old speeder has a lot of good memories attached to it.  
  
The rhythm of the raindrops has picked up another bar. It’s thick but not too heavy yet, though the tempo at which it’s falling will find them drenched in minutes.  
  
He watches her little fingers dance across the buttons on the console to power the speeder down, watches the shield kick into place and raindrops bounce off the transparent energy shield. She slides out of the craft, slinging a pack over her shoulder just as fat droplets begin falling in sheets. Together they rush under the porch. Her hair is dishevelled and clinging to her face, her armour gleams wetly, and he’s just about soaked. They stand there, facing each other before their heads turn to the open door. To the darkness enveloping the very guts of their relationship.  
  
Ben’s never experienced deja vu. Read about it, sure. He’s experienced situations that resembled past ones. But this is almost a carbon copy of that time they weathered a storm in the desert. When they’d consummated under the seal of their bond.   
  
The wind is whipping and rain is pounding and thunder rumbles and flashes of light illuminate the sky. Under the crooked awning of the porch, he reaches out his hand, glancing at her sideways, “Rey, do you trust me?”  
  
The corners of her mouth tug up ever so slightly in recognition. “Unconditionally.”  
  
Without further pause, her fingers grip his, interlacing in an act that feels ancient and right. If only he’d had the foresight to take the bloody gloves off he could press their marks together. Feeling the soothing warmth of the bond would be a welcome distraction right now.  
  
Hand in hand they clear the doorway, stepping into the heated darkness of the house just as a loud rumble shakes the very earth. Rey turns on the light in her helmet, flooding the interior in a bright light while he busies himself with shutting the door. He quickly pulls the old kitchen table (no dust though it looks more worn than he remembers) against the door in a vague attempt at barricading it. The galaxy’s shoddiest barrier but it’ll have to do.  
  
He turns around to find her powering on the temperature regulator, having set her helmet down in an advantageous position on the kitchen counter. When she finishes, she climbs down into the small cold cellar to boot up the power generator.   
  
Left alone in the space, Ben feels a pang in his chest. All the beautiful memories they’ve built between these four walls. All the love they shared. The love of her parents. A simple but fulfilling life. One he’d love nothing more than to recreate.  
  
He swallows thickly, gripping the comm and letter tighter. Vaguely, he realizes how ridiculous he must look. Hair soaked and clinging to his face, clothes drenched and dripping. He hears a squelch when he shifts his weight from one foot to the other only to realize his boots are soaked through. Gingerly, he toes off his boots, kicking them back under the table in a makeshift attempt at keeping the house ‘orderly’ as she comes back up the rickety ladder to stand in the middle of the kitchen.  
  
One step forward. He unties his cape - why did he choose a fucking cape anyways? Now that he thinks about it, the entire getup is ludicrous. Capes are for villains and heroes. He’s neither. If anything, Poe might have been right, he admits begrudgingly. He may (or may not) directly resemble some kind of spacey grim reaper. The concept came to him when his goal had been to look imposing and, to his credit, it worked when he thundered through the halls of the station. Passers by would avoid him and duck for cover. Now? It feels absurd. The knot at his shoulder releases and the cape plops wetly on the floor forgotten.  
  
A second step forward. He peels off his gloves one at a time, transferring the comm and letter in the opposite hand. Each glove squeaks as he jostles it off. Each glove falls to the floor with a soft thump forgotten.  
  
His breath is coming in heavy, heart pounding in his chest because this is it. The moment of truth.  
  
Standing but two feet in front of her, he holds out his hand, the one with the ring which her eyes have fallen on. In it, he cradles the little device and a yellowing piece of paper whose edges are fraying.   
  
Her eyes are glued to his hand. No, the ring? No, the comm. Something. All of it? He’s not really sure what she’s transfixed with, but what strikes him most is that there’s absolutely no recognition in her eyes. She’s looking at his little offering like it’s the first time.  
  
And that’s when a tear drips from her cheek onto the floor. That’s when her chin lifts and her wide eyes meet his. Filled to the brim with tears. Brows furrowed and chin quivering.  
  
“Ben … I … I was never…”  
  
“It’s alright sweetheart. It’s alright if you don’t remember. You were upset. I understand.”  
  
“No, Ben,” her hand reaches out to graze the comm reverently, to pinch the folded paper as if feeling its weight, its texture, “do you really believe I wouldn’t take something like this?”  
  
He stares at her dumbfounded because … well, no. He doesn’t. He’d convinced himself that was the case, sure. Had to, in fact. Just to survive. To find the strength to at least breathe without her. He had to spin a narrative that included at least a thread of sense and it was the only one he could think of. Surely it can’t be…  
  
“I’ve missed you for 2,841 days. Longed for you. Even if I was upset … and I _was_ … I would have wanted to talk it over with you. Because that’s what we do - what we _did_. We talked. The last time we spoke we were making plans for leaving together … I-I _wanted_ to go with you.”  
  
“Two thousand eight hundred and forty one days…” he parrots numbly. She too, had counted. Everything he’d convinced himself of had been nothing but a farce. The reality is so much better and yet, so much worse because that means…  
  
“He never gave it to you,” his voice has dropped an octave, anger simmering just beneath the surface.  
  
“I promise he said you’d left nothing. I flat out asked because … because I couldn’t believe you’d do that. And, and then after he’d just…” her eyes dart across the room, trying to collect memories like sheets scattered by a breeze, “he’d show up and try to hug me all weird and tell me I should move on and… oh my _God._ ”  
  
“Fucking _bastard_.”  
  
His beautiful soulmate flings herself at him. Wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face into the wet fabric of his tunic. Her back heaves with the force of her sobs, “I-I never stopped loving you, you know? Not for one second.”  
  
His arms wrap around what’s _his_ posessively, holding her tight and running his palm up and down her plated spine in a soothing gesture. Her right hand gives a tug and he instinctively knows what to do. Drops his left hand from her back and lets it dangle by his side where their bare skin meets. The warmth of her skin ignites a dormant fire within him. The door to memories of _them_ blown wide open and flooding his consciousness.  
  
Ever so slowly their fingers interlace. Their marks brush against each other first, sending a jolt of electricity through him. Then their fingers close, slotting into place the way they were meant to. The bond springs to life. It’s glorious the way his heart swells. The way his soul feels like it’s being knitted back together after being tattered for so long. Like watching a wound heal in time lapse. Whole. He feels _whole_.  
  
“Neither did I, sweetheart. Neither did I,” he murmurs into the top of her head. Her wet hair clinging to his unshaved face but he couldn’t give a single fuck right now because it’s over. His search is _finally_ over.  
  
And the Gods have been kind to him, for once. He didn’t find her happy with a family. Didn’t find her hating his guts or cursing his name. No. He found her just as hurt, just as broken and alone as he had been without her. Except now they have each other. Now they’ll never be alone again.  
  
Which brings him to his next order of business...  
  
“He lied this entire time. I’m going to fucking _kill_ him!”

  
  



	16. Tell Me About The Last 8 Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Okay?” Her eyes flit across his face like she’s tracing the outlines of his features. An act he might be indulging in too._
> 
> _“Yes. Definitely,” he agrees a little louder._
> 
> _He peels himself away, though not of his own accord in search of … what had she said? Towels? Clothes? Blankets? No, check the water tank? She wants him to shower? Why would he shower without her? That’s a ludicrous concept now that he’s found her._
> 
> _Dammit, he really should have listened. There’s just something about the way her lips moved that had him hypnotized. Something about the explosion of colour in her eyes that made it hard to concentrate on anything but the nuanced streaks of gold or green. Now he’s going to half-ass her orders and make a fool of himself._
> 
> _Ben rummages through every closet and cabinet he’s known the Niimas to stash textiles into. Piling whatever seemed decent enough into his arms. Would she prefer a mountain of towels or blankets? There are sheets too?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweetness overload!!!
> 
> Was gonna upload earlier today but my resident chipmunk showed up and I'm working on getting him to trust me. His name is Simon (don't @ me) and he and I will have a Snow White moment before the summer is out. That is all.

The lights blinked on just after he’d ground out his promise. They’re dim and hazy but enough to make the house feel like the home it used to be. Banishing the eerie shadows cast by the furniture blocking her helmet's light.  
  
“He lied this entire time. I’m going to fucking _kill_ him!”  
  
Rey’s hand grips his tighter, fingers squeezing reassuringly. “Not if I get him first,” she mutters into his wet tunic. He can’t help but huff out an incredulous laugh.   
  
Here they are, drenched from the rain, holding onto each other for dear life while they proclaim intentions of murder. He’d think it was funnier if he wasn’t absolutely serious. He’s also 100% certain she’s not joking either.  
  
All the interactions he’d had with his second cousin replay in his mind. The ugly looks he’d give him. The furtive sideways glances and snarky remarks. The way he’d avoided him after the first few weeks like he was some kind of disease. The way he’d started off friendly enough but eventually turned sour the more time he spent on Earth.   
  
Originally he’d just dismissed his behaviour as standard fare. Rey even told him as much. That he was prone to mood swings and lashed out at seemingly inconsequential things. She’d recounted all the ridiculous outbursts she’d witnessed which fell in line with what he’d seen himself. Hell, he’d even observed them first hand every time he schooled the guy at that fighter game he was so wont to lose at.   
  
What’s become clear in the last few moments is that the anger Jacen walked around with _hadn’t_ been his regular mood _at all_. It had been directed at Ben. Maybe even Rey. But mostly Ben. Because Jacen clearly thought he had some kind of right to her. Like she was property and he was first in line to sign that lease. Only for Ben to sweep in and … what? Steal her?  
  
All the interactions he’d had with Jacen begin replaying in his mind's eye. Every single one from the new angle the revelation has afforded him. And it makes him fucking _angry_.   
  
_No one_ owns her. _No one_ has a right to her. She’s her own person who makes her own decisions. Ben may have been gifted the soulmate bond with her, but it didn’t make her his property. It’s _absurd_ to think of it in those terms.  
  
And further, how could someone purposely wedge themselves between two people who share such an intimate bond? Whether he knew about the soulmate mark (he certainly does now) or not doesn’t even matter. Couldn’t he see she was happy? _They_ were happy? At the very least have the decency to tip your hat and congratulate the other. _Good game chap_ , and all that pleasantry.  
  
Not that Rey’s hand was some kind of trophy prize for a game. But the metaphor stands. Bow out like a gentleman. Sabotage is never a good look.  
  
Then again, he _had_ experienced Jacen’s penchant for being a sore loser, so...  
  
“Hey,” her head lifts off his chest, face tilting up to his. Her gloved hand reaches up to curl gently around his neck, “relax, it’s alright.” Her thumb soothes circles beneath his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.  
  
He hadn’t noticed he’d started breathing harder. Hadn’t noticed his chest and forearms were wound tight, muscles clenched in anger. When her thumb grazes a thick cord on his neck, he admits internally that he might be on the brink of losing his shit. Now that their eyes meet, he’s acutely aware his nostrils are flaring and he might be grinding his jaw hard enough to chip teeth.  
  
The worry in her eyes is enough to give him pause. To make him take a few deep, cleansing breaths and find his center in her grounding presence. “I’m sorry, I just…” he takes in another ragged breath as her hand glides up his neck to cup his jaw, “I’m _so_ angry at him.”  
  
She nods. It’s small but holds conviction.   
  
“I know. Me too. But you can’t do anything about it just yet. So there’s no reason to get so worked up,” she shifts in his arms, fingers reaching higher to cup his cheek, “at least not right now.”  
  
“I disagree,” he grumbles, “that speeder has a shield. Reckon we could make it back within the hour and rough him up.”  
  
Her lips press together to stifle a smile, “as much as I want the same thing … and you’ve _definitely_ just made a fine case for a return trip, I think … I think maybe we have more important things to do?”  
  
Ben leans his cheek into her hand, suddenly annoyed with the barrier of her glove. He turns his head to press his lips into her open palm, closing his eyes and leaving a gentle kiss there. It smells like freshly welded graphene and rain.   
  
“Like weathering the storm?” He asks before he shifts his face to nibble the tip of her thumb, catching the glove to tug. Without missing a beat she pulls her hand to slide the offending garment off. Her hand returns to his cheek the instant he’s spat the glove out of his mouth. “Or plotting his murder? I can be swayed both ways.”  
  
When her hand makes contact with his cheek, his eyes grow wide. He can _feel_ it. The cold line of metal against his skin. His head jerks back and his eyes almost cross trying to look at… yep, there it is.  
  
“Y-you kept it? You _wear_ it?”  
  
Her right hand squeezes his again. Another reassurance. Another bit of proof he should have never let himself fall prey to his dark thoughts.   
  
“Why wouldn’t I?”  
  
“I-I keep forgetting you don’t hate me. Wait, do you?”  
  
And that’s when her resolve seems to crumble, because she stops trying to hide that million watt smile and lets it shine. It’s fucking blinding. Brighter than the biggest cluster of photons in the known and unknown galaxy. He has to resist the urge to capture her lips and taste it.  
  
“Listen to me,” her right hand releases his to cup his other cheek, nestling his face in the cradle of her palms, “I couldn’t. Now let’s get settled and organized so we can talk murder. I’ll try to start a fire so we can dry your clothes. The wood looks dry enough. I’ll also comm Poe to let him know you’re safe. _You_ need to work with me. Can you do that?”   
  
He nods, letting the warmth of her hands seep into his wet scruff. Now that he knows she’s here, he wishes he’d taken the time to shave this morning. In fact, his morning ritual would have been quite different on the whole.  
  
“Good. Go find some towels or something to wear. And check the water tank. If there’s enough you might be able to swing a shower, though I can’t guarantee the generator’s produced enough power to warm it.”  
  
“Okay,” he mumbles quietly. Mostly a knee jerk reaction because he’s too smitten with her to register anything she’s said. He hopes this feeling never fades. This intense sort of tunnel vision where he finds himself drowning in her eyes. How the fuck did he keep his composure all those years ago? How has he survived _without_ it?  
  
“Okay?” Her eyes flit across his face like she’s tracing the outlines of his features. An act he might be indulging in too.  
  
“Yes. Definitely,” he agrees a little louder.  
  
He peels himself away, though not of his own accord in search of … what had she said? Towels? Clothes? Blankets? No, check the water tank? She wants him to shower? Why would he shower without her? That’s a ludicrous concept now that he’s found her.  
  
Dammit, he really should have listened. There’s just something about the way her lips moved that had him hypnotized. Something about the explosion of colour in her eyes that made it hard to concentrate on anything but the nuanced streaks of gold or green. Now he’s going to half-ass her orders and make a fool of himself.  
  
Ben rummages through every closet and cabinet he’s known the Niimas to stash textiles into. Piling whatever seemed decent enough into his arms. Would she prefer a mountain of towels or blankets? There are sheets too?  
  
In her parents small bedroom off the kitchen he finds their old house robes. They’re moth bitten, tattered and threadbare but they’ll do. He finds a stack of bath towels in the bathroom, a thick woolen blanket in the linen closet, her surprisingly intact duvet and two flattened pillows in her old room.  
  
With the mountain of fabric balanced in his arms he stops dead in the short hall by the attic stairs remembering she’d asked him to check the tank. So he does that too, awkwardly wrangling the pile while he checks it’s gauges. It looks like the rain is filtering into the tank so he contends himself with the current reading and the prospect of a full tank in about an hours’ time.  
  
Satisfied with having completed his (maybe?) task list, he waddles back into the main room. It’s silent minus the howling winds outside, the onslaught of rain on the miraculously intact roof, and the crackle of a fire.  
  
Ben cranes his neck around the pile to find Rey has stripped her suit’s plating, stacking them neatly on a chair like a lopsided metallic cake. Her blaster tucked safely behind the pile and her helmet perched on top of the plates like an off kilter decoration. On the coffee table he sees Rey’s backpack lay open, a plethora of food rations and little packets strewn in a heap that suggests she’d packed for days not hours.   
  
His eyes drift to the fireplace where she’s standing in her fitted black bodysuit, the one he knows is lined with hundreds of thousands of nanobots and sensors. Her hands are shaking and eyes are cast down. Between her fingers the unfolded note he’d left her all those years ago trembles as her eyes scan the words he’d imprinted on the page.  
  
He stands there a moment, appreciative of the view. Appreciating the shape of her. The small evolution she’s undergone to shed her adolescent shape and become the beautiful woman before him today. The one he’s longed for standing there in the most homely of settings and he casts a silent prayer, wishing he’ll get to witness this level of tranquility every day for the rest of his life.   
  
He wishes he could have seen it. Her transformation. Seen her hips grow a little wider, watched the angles of her face mature. Wished he’d been there to support her strength and endurance training at the academy. But the pile in his arms has started getting heavy and the sight of her might be giving him a semi, forcing him into an awkward plié to attempt a hands-free adjustment. In turn, his shift makes a floorboard creak announcing his presence and breaking the spell.  
  
At the intrusion, her eyes blink up to meet his. Brows turned down and cheeks wet with fresh tears. Except he knows she’s not sad now. There’s a smile tugging at her lips. They’re not tears of loss or uncertainty. They’re tears of happiness. Like hope and certainty that’s been floating in the periphery finally compounding to produce a physical manifestation - tears.  
  
“Ben,” her fingers fold the note up, running along the pressed edges as she restores it to its former state, “I…”  
  
She doesn’t finish whatever she was going to say. Instead she drops the note onto the coffee table, her trajectory unmistakable - she’s coming to _him._ It’s a speeding sort of walk. Like his mother’s guards when they’re rushing to clear a path for one of her impromptu visits to this department or that. It’s urgent and resolute all at once.  
  
Before he knows it, he’s let the pile of fabric drop from his arms in lieu of capturing her. Because it’s the only logical thing to do. If it came to choosing between _anything_ or her, he’ll _always_ choose her. And he would have been content to just have her in his arms. It’s more than he could have hoped for after all this time. But she has other ideas it seems.  
  
The moment his arms close around her, the forward trajectory she’d set doesn’t stop. It only slows. Her head comes closer and closer until he’s a cross eyed confused mess because what is she doing...   
  
And then it hits him all at once. Like being bulldozed by a freighter. Because he’s apparently just _that_ oblivious. Her lips crash into his unceremoniously and eight years worth of yearning sizzles across his puckered mouth like lightning on contact.  
  
It’s not a hungry kiss. Nor is it passionate. It’s soft and sweet, a little clumsy and full of longing. But most of all, it’s the gentle bump they needed to reset their system. The jolt that slots them back in place. Where the gears click into their designated spots and the machine starts running in perfect sync. Where once it was unhinged and unbalanced, it’s suddenly restored to its rightful state.  
  
Ben hadn’t planned on kissing her. Not that he didn’t _want_ to. It’s just that, until an hour ago he’d had no clue where she was. Half an hour ago he was convinced she hated him. 20 minutes ago the floodgates of possibility opened. He was only biding his time so as not to spook her.  
  
He should have known better. If she’s been as lonely and broken as he’d been (and she clearly had), waiting was a terribly stoic idea that had no place in their story. He missed her and wanted to kiss her and so did she, and that was that.  
  
So he puts everything he has into the gentle presses of their lips. Moving his against hers in silent conversation, wordlessly communicated promises and adorations transferring between the soft skin of their lips. Innumerable wet pecks and strings of little kisses follow. If it’s a minute or an hour he doesn’t know, nor does he care. All he knows is he wants for nothing and she’s perfect and they’re perfect and _fuck_ he’s missed her.  
  
His universe has _finally_ clicked into place.  
  
Their kisses morph, long and slow. He’s tempted to open his mouth just a little wider in invitation, see if she’ll bite but this alone just feels so good. With her soft lips pressed to his, unhurried and loving. With her warm hands splayed around his neck, fingers tangling to play with the loose wet hairs at the nape, it’s impossible to think or formulate _what’s next_.  
  
Apparently she can though, because he feels her pull away. He lets his eyes open, heavy lidded in his newfound contentment. Her kiss stung lips tug up at the corners into a smile.  
  
“There’s nothing to forgive, Ben. You were put in an impossible situation, and you _did_ come back. If-if I’d known … if I’d had the comm we could have…”  
  
And if in the last eight years he’d thrown himself into the role of the station’s resident grump, he’s quickly reminded of just how awkward he’s always been beneath that facade.   
  
Foot, meet mouth.   
  
“There’s enough water in the tank to shower,” he blurts out like a fucking juvenile.  
  
 _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.  
  
_ Eight years. A kiss that’s stopped time. Forgiveness. And the first fucking thing out of his mouth is some pedestrian fact about the water tank. Welcome back adolescent Ben, how was your stay in broodsville? I see adulthood has taught you exactly _nothing_ about flirting.  
  
“I see,” her eyes dance between his, searching them for meaning. Something seems to catch because they take on a playful glint. “Well, I sorted things out with Dameron. He’s _much_ more agreeable now that he’s been put in his place,” she muses with a small smile.  
  
 _God I love you.  
  
_ It’s what he _wants_ to say, but there’s a game afoot and he’s caught whiff of it. “Well, I found towels and robes and blankets.”  
  
Shit is he doing this right? Should he be telling her she’s done an excellent job securing them? Is this even the little game they’re playing or is he misreading things?  
  
“Aah yes,” her smirk grows and she bites her lower lip playfully, “I laid out rations and managed to get a fire going.”  
  
He _knew_ it! There _is_ a game. Except...  
  
Ben sputters. He’s fresh out of survival tasks. Then an idea hits him. It’s a little pathetic but it adds some heft to his short list of duties. “I have photos. Entertainment to ride out the storm.”  
  
“Touché,” she conceded, dipping her head, “though I hope you have enough … entertainment. It looks like the storm will linger for a while.”  
  
 _Shit.  
  
_ “Alright sweetheart. Check mate. You win.”  
  
The responding smile she gives him is enough to snuff out the last of the darkness he’s carried inside him.

  
  


…

  
  


Protein rations should be banned. This shit tastes like wet powder but has the consistency of toothpaste. It’s mind blowing, really. Besides, how does a powder taste wet? How the fuck do they manage to _not_ mix it enough to thwart the granular texture. Even flour eventually changes its character once it's been folded enough. A little fact he’d learned when Mrs. Niima taught him how to bake.  
  
“You get used to it,” she waves her hand while she squeezes the rest of her tube onto her tongue, “kinda grows on you after a while. If you concentrate hard enough you can pretend it’s applesauce or corn chowder.”  
  
He grunts trying to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth where this … edible paste … has congealed and begun acting like glue. It’s like eating that goop they had in his kindergarten class. The one they used for 3-dimensional art projects. He maintains to this day that he did _not_ , in fact, stuff a thumb full into his mouth, transfixed by its bright pink colour. And he certainly did _not_ have to visit the school nurse to have her unstick his lips which had suspiciously fused together.  
  
“Hey,” she swats his arm, “millions of people eat this every day. Have some respect for the commoner, your highness.”  
  
“I’m not averse to the plebeian struggle, sweetheart,” he nudges her with his shoulder, “I’d just like to have a conversation with my mother about the quality of this stuff. Why _can’t_ it taste like applesauce? And why _does_ it have to have the palette of wet dirt?”  
  
She giggles, throwing her head onto the back of the sofa. It exposes the long line of her slender neck and offers him a peek at her collarbones. His mouth begins to water for a completely different reason, though applesauce _on_ her collarbones might have its merits...  
  
“Besides,” he turns his head to smirk at her coyly, “if you’re so down with the ‘commoner’ life, _princess_ … why did you insist on changing in the bathroom?”  
  
Her cheeks flush a bright shade of crimson that’s utterly fucking endearing. He wants to kiss her face. Every square inch of it.  
  
“Beeeeeen!” She whines as she throws her forearm over her eyes.  
  
“I’m just saying,” he gives her another teasing nudge with his shoulder, “we both know I’ve seen you naked before.”  
  
Her head jolts up and she turns to him with an indignant sort of determination. Blush still high on her cheekbones and eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh really? Well if that’s the case, and you’re ‘ _not averse to the plebeian struggle_ ’ as you say,” she accentuates with air quotes, “explain _why_ you did the same thing?”  
  
“Semantics, sweetheart,” he boops her nose with his index finger, “I’m not averse, but I never said I embraced it. Besides, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”  
  
He loops his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side while she sputters with mock indignation. She tucks in willingly, molding her body to his just the way he remembers. They sit in silence chewing (mashing?) the paste in their mouths for sustenance, letting the dancing flames of the fire act as a hypnotic form of entertainment. Flames licking up and morphing. Flickering in shades of yellow and orange.  
  
It really _was_ funny, her need to change in the bathroom. And it’s true, he _had_ seen her naked. Many, many, _many_ times. Not that he doesn’t want to again. He actually can’t wait. But he doesn’t begrudge her the choice. Mostly because they’re still navigating through having missed so much of each other’s lives. It’s impossible to pretend 8 years of pain hadn’t separated them. Impossible to assume they could hop right back in like nothing happened. Like there hadn’t been a rift the size of planets between them until an hour ago. Then again, in this short time, 8 years worth of hurt and anger feel like they’ve melted off him so nothing’s outside the realm of possibility.  
  
After they’d finally untangled themselves from their kiss she’d insisted the proper course of action was to change out of their wet clothes (his wet clothes, her suit was just fine) and get some sustenance in them.   
  
She said she’d chosen to change because her suit’s vibrations were ‘ _the antithesis of relaxation_ ’ and they had hours of it ahead, so might as well get comfortable. Ben’s never put one of those suits on. His mother never allowed him to get fitted for one, mostly for fear he’d do something stupid in it (and he admits she was probably right). He also didn’t exactly fit into the ones laying around being the lumbering giant he is. So he’s only ever heard stories and read specs, fascinated by the microscopic tech woven into the space resistant fabric.   
  
So that’s how they ended up changing into her parents' old house robes in the bathroom then teasing each other about the debacle now.  
  
His arm squeezes gently around her, pulling her in closer and he leans his head to press a kiss to her temple. Savouring the taste and smell of her even with the gritty paste clinging to his hard palette. “Tell me about the last eight years. I’ve missed so much.”  
  
Her face is turned towards the fire and even in profile he can see her eyes drift far away, immersing in memory.  
  
“I wish I had some grand tales to tell you. But … truthfully I’ve been so numb I don’t think much has stuck.”  
  
“Tell me anyway,” he prompts, leaning his forehead against her temple.  
  
“Well … you left. Originally I’d assumed you were just busy hashing out details with your mother but then … you didn’t show and it got later and later and I got worried and … I went to find you. Jacen told me … uh, that stuff. Then I just sort of, slipped into darkness … like you I guess. Every day was a repetition, you know? Wake up, brush your teeth, eat breakfast, check the irrigation, man the fields, try to be mentally present for dinner, sleep.  
  
“Jacen came by a lot at the beginning. He’d just sort of sit and _be_ there. Not like I noticed. It just made me sick when he tried to hug me. It was weird. I’ve hugged him so many times when we were kids but these just seemed … strange. They made my skin crawl and my stomach lurch. He’d try to get me to play games, tried to joke and all but … I just didn’t care. I felt so numb, nothing felt right. I felt like a foreigner in my own body. Eventually he stopped coming around, so that was a positive.  
  
“About three years ago my dad caught a new strain of pneumonia. The doctor thought he’d contracted it at the outpost but … anyway, it did a number on him and he passed away. My mother managed to contract it too and she … sorry this uh, it’s hard to say wearing her robe. She … she was so strong. Held on till the end but…”  
  
He holds her tighter, nuzzles his lips against her temple. “I’m so sorry Rey. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you. For all of you.”  
  
He can feel her head tilt into him, feel the waves of sadness rolling over her.   
  
“You couldn’t have known,” she manages quietly, her fingers reaching to clutch at the sleeve of his robe. She sniffles and releases a shaky breath. “Anyway, I … after that, after losing you and _them_ I-I had nothing left so I sold the property to Owen and enlisted. I tried to find you in Coruscant but there was no Kylo Ben Ren on record at the archives so I just ... lost hope. The academy was intense but not unbearable and … and … oh my _God_ your dad is General Solo!”  
  
He groans and rolls his head back, “not you too!”  
  
“What do you mean ‘ _not you too’?_ ”  
  
“I mean this with utmost respect, but, my dad is out to ruin my _life_. Do you _know_ how many anecdotes and stories he tells at my expense? Hmm? Cadets from Coruscant show up at the station and get all googly eyed. When they see me they ambush me like I’m some kind of royalty. Why do you think I wear all black?”  
  
“Because you’re an angry dark lord?” She jests lightly.  
  
“Funny girl,” he presses another kiss to her temple. Because he _wants_ to and because he _can_ , “it’s to scare them off. I fucking _hate_ his fanboys.”  
  
“Oh no! His majesty is the talk of the town. However does he handle their relentless adoration? Well, now that I know those stories were about _you_ ,” she lifts her head smiling, “the one with the shuttle always gave me a good chuckle. He likes telling that one _a lot_.”  
  
“Don’t remind me,” he rolls his eyes lightheartedly. Ironically, hearing about his father’s anecdotes used to make his hackles rise. Talking to her about them now felt good. He felt like he could laugh alongside her at the stupid shit he’d done. And he’d done _a lot_ (except eat craft glue). Mostly under the influence of one Poe Dameron. Shithead extraordinaire.  
  
She places a chaste kiss on his chin before laying her head back on his shoulder. “What about you? Tell me about your last eight years.”  
  
“Mmmm,” he hums in contentment, “not much to tell, like you.”  
  
“At first I waited for you to contact me. Weeks went by and I thought you were just busy with harvest. And then more time went by and I just slipped into this deep sadness without you. I started convincing myself you didn’t want me. That you woke up and realized I wasn’t good enough for you. At one point I thought you’d moved on and gotten married. That one always depressed me to the point I couldn’t get out of bed.  
  
“But I wanted to fight so I started pressing my mother for a shuttle so I could come back for you. She kept insisting it wasn’t safe. That there was this cell of insurgents hell bent on undermining her at any cost which included using me. Not that that stopped me.  
  
“One time I tried to bribe Poe to take me down. We don’t talk about it to this day. My mom caught wind of it and grounded both of us for half a year. He still dangles it over my head. I imagine being a grounded pilot probably gave him a bad case of cabin fever.   
  
“I’ve tried sneaking onto supply shuttles, disguising myself as a traveller … one time I considered getting into a coffin bound for Earth. It wasn’t my brightest moment but I was desperate.  
  
“I guess the short of it is, I fought every day to come back to you. Even if you never contacted me. Even if I didn’t deserve you, I had to try.  
  
“I … I kept the HoloPad charged, carried it with me _everywhere_ , still do actually … ‘s in my bag now. It’s where I keep all our pictures. I just … I never stopped thinking about you. Not for one minute. And even at my darkest I never fully lost hope.”  
  
“So you never … you know,” she rolls her wrist but he can feel her stiffen before the words come out of her mouth, “dated?”  
  
“God no,” he blusters, “the idea is preposterous. My mom tried to set me up on dates. She’d send these women incognito. I had _no_ idea, just thought they had questions about projects to ask over lunch or caf but … one of them tried to get too close and, uh, I ended up puking into the nearest garbage chute. It made me physically ill to be near another woman. Gave my mom shit about the whole thing once I’d figured it out. What about you?”  
  
“Ditto,” she relaxes back against him. “Even if I thought I’d never have you again I … no one would ever measure up. What’s the point of living a lie and dragging someone else down? I mean besides the physical revulsion I don’t think anyone would be able to fill your shoes.”  
  
God if that doesn’t break his heart and make it beat faster all at once. He squeezes her tighter, reaching his opposite hand to cradle her jaw and press a wet smooch to her temple.   
  
“So then what happened?” She deadpans, intent on bringing levity to their conversation.  
  
“That’s pretty much it, sweetheart. I’ve got eight years of trying to get down here under my belt and not much to show for it before today.   
  
“I _do_ have an uncle who’s a doctor. My mother’s twin. He’s a bit of a nut but … he helped me through the rougher patches. He was able to pull a bunch of sealed JEDI files. Did you know if one of us dies the other would feel it? Like losing half of yourself? Apparently bonded soulmates live and die together. And apparently the longer you’re in close proximity, the more the bond whispers. Shapes of ideas from the other's mind. Crazy huh? Guess now we can test all of Luke’s findings for real…”  
  
“Luke,” her face scrunches, “as in Skywalker? Dr. Luke Skywalker?” She interrupts him, her body jerking back in surprise.  
  
“Yeah that’s him. Why … ohhh you saw _him_?”  
  
“What do you mean _‘you saw him_ ’?”  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
“Uh, two days ago, you uh … were in the consultation rooms, yeah?” She nods with wide eyes. “I was passing through to my mother’s. She was going to give me the green light on this mission. I-I saw your agent name on the door and it made me freeze. It just looked so much like your name. Turns out it _was_ you,” he says this reverently, then turns to levity, trying to lighten the mood, “so I guess you’ve met most of family now. What’d you need him for anyway?”  
  
“I …” her body shifts away from his and he reaches to stop her, interlacing their fingers, “I uh, well … I was so convinced you’d moved on, gotten married and moved and so I thought … maybe once I got up there the doctors could … I don’t know it’ll sound stupid and please … I’m so sorry but … I was hoping he could remove the mark or excise my memories. It just hurt so much to know I’d never have you again.”  
  
It’s so natural for him to pull her close. So natural for him to envelope her in his arms and crush her to his chest. “Rey, you have _nothing_ to be sorry for. You did what you had to do having convinced yourself of a truth we now both know was wrong. Just like I did. I’m just happy you’re here now. That _we’re_ here … _together._ ”  
  
Her lower body shifts and he feels her thigh slide over his, adjusting herself to straddle his lap while he continues to crush her upper body against his. Like a half-hearted attempt at absorbing her into himself.  
  
“Now and forever,” she mumbles into his chest.  
  
“Now and forever,” he agrees, hugging her tighter.  
  
“Besides,” she mumbles against him, “Dr. Skywalker knocked some sense into me. Told me memory excision was a terrible idea. Said it was all a big misunderstanding. Told me to give him 24 hours but I guess _that_ doesn’t matter anymore.”  
  
 _Fucking_ uncle Luke. Ben chuckles into her hair mulling over that meeting. He feels laughter bubble in his chest, laughter he tries to suppress because she’ll think him crazy.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Nothing just … Luke barged into that meeting and I’m thinking, if you showed him your mark ... you did, right?” She nods as much as she can against the rough robe.   
  
“Well I’m assuming it was right after your appointment. He said something about a recommendation when I was leaving so…”  
  
“So Dr. Skywalker-”  
  
“Luke, babe, just call him Luke.”  
  
“-Luke, he suggested I … oh _my God_ … he talked to the senator … and then I get the mission … and then … he _knew_!”  
  
God she’s incredible. The way she followed that train of thought, the way she unravelled that thread. How is it possible for one person to be so perfect?  
  
“Told you he was a nut,” he grins into her hair. He’ll need to pay his uncle a visit, simultaneously give him shit and thank him. Technically he’s entitled to give him at least a smidge of crap for not bringing them together sooner, but he’d made sure it was _organic_ so he can’t really begrudge him.  
  
She peels her upper body away from him, perched high in his lap and beaming at him. Her hands reach up to cup his jaw again and it makes him smile back, crooked teeth and all.  
  
“I suppose I owe him thanks,” she finally says.  
  
“We both do,” he lets his hands drop to her waist, squeezing here lightly.   
  
It’s a nice view, one he’s missed. Then again, there isn’t anything about her he _hasn’t_ missed. Like the delectable collarbones on full display now that her robe’s slackened just a little more. Or the patch of freckles on her chest. Or the soft line of her breasts so generously exposed. Or the feel of her small waist between his fingers. Or the weight of her body on his. He could go on for ages. _Wax poetic_ as his mother had called it.  
  
Above, the lights flicker. Their dim glow stutters but he’s too engrossed in her to care. They flicker on and off and on and off before they go off and stay that way.  
  
Outside there’s the crack of thunder, a deep rumble that shakes the house. The rain picks up some more and batters against the roof. Before them, the fire crackles soothingly, bathing the now darkened room in its soft orange glow. The juxtaposition between the wild storm outside and the cozy bubble inside completely lost on him. Because she’s utterly breathtaking like this. Quite frankly he should be thanking whatever deity there is for this technological hiccup because it’s set the mood quite nicely.  
  
“The generator?” He asks quietly, eyes fixated on her lips.  
  
“Mhmm,” she hums, eyelids drooping halfway.  
  
“Let me check-” he moves to stand, has every intention of being a good man and taking his time wooing her all over again.  
  
Does he want to? _No_. He _likes_ this ambiance. Likes the way it bathes her exposed skin and makes it glow. The way it makes her hair gleam and her lips look an extra shade of delicious.  
  
“Leave it,” her hand pushes against his chest to press him back into the sofa, “I kind of like it like this.”  
  
“Oh?” He smirks knowingly, eyes dropping back to her mouth.  
  
“Yeah,” she shifts closer on his lap, “nice ambiance.”  
  
“Mmmhmm,” he agrees, “did you plan this? Set the mood?”  
  
“I’m not _that_ deliberate but … we can keep it like this? If you want to, that is?” Her hands reach behind him to tangle in his hair and he chances a glance up to see her eyes aren’t on his either. They’re glued to his lips.  
  
“I do,” he whispers.  
  
He feels the corners of his mouth curl up. Feels the heat of her breath fan over his mouth before his eyes close. Before their lips meet.  
  
Before her robe falls open to settle heavily onto his thighs.

  
  



	17. Fused Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It would be ridiculous to dilute their connection and describe it as merely sexual. There’s so much more to them than this. Only, the intimacy between them is so compounded in these moments that he can’t separate him from her. They’re one like this. Two souls concentrated so intimately they merge. Not blended or mixed. They’re fused together. It’s a permanent sort of splicing that can’t be undone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, my hand slipped. Here's a chapter dedicated solely to porn. Earn your rating amirite?
> 
> PS: This chapter was hitting the 25 page mark. So uh ... I'm splitting it in two. It became a nightmare to edit it was so long. I'm not sure if it'll change the chapter count just yet but I'm staying optimistic.

She’s just as soft as he remembers.  
  
This kiss isn’t tentative like their first. Well … their first in 8 years. It’s also not hungry per se, but it _is_ much more heated. Evidenced by the fact that she’s opened up to him, letting him lick up into her mouth while his hands settle on her bare waist. The heat radiating off her naked body permeating his skin and blanketing his mind in a haze.  
  
He wants to pull away and drink in the sight of her body. Wants to see those perfect breasts that have haunted his dreams. To watch his hand run across them, dwarfing and testing their pliancy, how they mold to his cupped hands. Roll her perfect little nipples under his thumb pads, trail down the hard plane of her sternum while feeling the thrum of her heartbeat beneath his palm. Watch his hand span across her soft stomach, his thumb stroke the delicate skin below her navel. Refresh the memory, if you will. But he _just_ _can’t_ _stop_ kissing her like this.  
  
He’s completely entranced, Unable to think much beyond responding to the existing physical stimuli. Hold on for dear life and snap up the morsels he’s being fed.  
  
It’s a steady, promising kind of kiss filled with yearning. Filled with love. Like a key working it’s intended lock, brushing the mechanism to expose the path of endless opportunity it protects. _I was made for you_ , they say, _open up for me_.  
  
Their tongues don’t wrangle for dominance. They skim each other in long drags. Soft strokes that caresses tastebud against tastebud. Relishing and massaging. Remembering. Tracing the inside of the others’ mouth like an explorer returning to a beloved site.  
  
She sighs a soft sigh into his mouth. One he inhales wholly, savouring the taste of her carbon dioxide. The flavour of her insides. Shit he’s already flying at full mast thinking about his favourite taste of her. Somewhere far lower than what he’s consuming now.   
  
But he’s got time. _They’ve_ got time.   
  
Her hands slide down his neck, drawing a trail of fire in their wake. Leaving his nerves tingling and, yep, his dick is definitely twitching. _Keep it together Ben.  
  
_ It’s an out of body experience, being with her again. Originally he’d gone completely numb, blood choosing to flow somewhere his horny hindbrain deemed far more important. He’d been completely at her mercy, incapacitated and pinned down by the sweetest weight. Only having enough brain juice to return her kiss and hold onto her waist for dear life.  
  
Now he’s starting to feel his body again, blood returning into the tips of his fingers, nudging them into action. He begins tracing little circles into her waist, delicate little promises edged in fire against her skin to match the ones she’s leaving on his neck.  
  
Her hands tuck under the collar of the robe to brush over his bare shoulders. Squeezing there before trailing back to smooth down his chest. Her tongue strokes slow over his own, the air thick with the wet clicks of their mouths. And _fuck_ when her fingers graze over his nipples he only has _just_ enough willpower to stop himself from bucking up. The throaty groan he releases, unfortunately, can’t be reeled in and rips loudly through the silence in the room.  
  
It’s a desperate, needy sound she seems to like eliciting because she does it again to extract the same effect. The third time he can’t stop his hips from jerking up. Nor does he stop himself from gripping her waist to pull her down against him.  
  
Her responding moan, small and breathy, is nothing short of life changing. And he might be imagining … _fuck,_ no she’s _definitely_ grinding down on him. Each deliberate pass of her core over his erection has his toes curling. Each roll of her hips, each passing glide sets another neuron over the edge, sparking and firing erratically. Incoherent little zaps that terminate in his lower belly, clenching in pleasure and shifting his hips.  
  
God _fucking_ dammit if she keeps this up he’s going to come right here and that just won’t do. He’d like to take his time and reacquaint himself with every inch of her. He wants to draw this out. Make it good for her. Make _her_ feel good. Make up for all the years he’s missed out on.  
  
His own body isn’t getting that message though. Between his mouth seeking hers out hungrily, the way his hands have grasped her waist possessively, and the way he’s rolling his hips into her … yeah his body and mind are gonna need a conversation just as soon as he’s got more blood available for the latter.  
  
Then there’s the problem of the robe pooling between their bodies, blocking his carnal search for the very core of her…  
  
“Sweetheart,” he pants between kisses, “if you keep this up it’ll be over before it starts.”  
  
“That so?” She bites his lower lips playfully and _purposely_ runs her thumbs over his nipples again. The resulting shock goes straight to his cock. Every pass of her thumbs over his nipples, every grind against his throbbing erection draws his balls up tighter and sends waves of heat slinking down his spine.   
  
_God dammit_ he’s gonna come, he’s so fucking close already.  
  
His hands grip her waist to stop her, holding her still and lifting her off. Just enough to give his lap some much needed breathing room. He keeps her there, hovering just an inch over his painfully hard cock. Thankfully, the waves slowly recede to something more manageable.   
  
“Been a while,” he nips her lips back. They turn down into an adorable little pout.  
  
“Wanted to take my time worshiping this body,” he lets his mouth graze down to her jaw. He can feel the little micro movements in her hips that try to shift beneath his hands. Looking for the opening, their opportunity to escape and bear down again.   
  
_Nope, gonna make this last sweetheart_.  
  
Letting his lips ghost the curve of her jaw, he follows it to the junction at her ear, leaving a trail of small kisses en route. There he darts his tongue out to swipe at his very favourite spot. The one he likes to bury his face into when he’s inside her. It’s not enough. He latches on to suckle the soft skin there.  
  
She tastes a little like rain, a little like that crappy standard issue Castile soap they insist on using at the station, and a lot like Rey.  
  
Rey who has always tasted faintly of creamy vanilla and sun baked skin. Not like she _actually_ tastes like vanilla, it’s just how his tastebuds and matching neuronal clusters interpret the flavour of her. It’s intoxicating and it’s dessert and it’s sustenance all at once. A heady sort of mix that has him positively drunk. He groans happily around the mouthful of supple skin. Enjoying having her pulse so close to his mouth, letting her ragged breaths fan over his ear in time with the thrumming of her heart against his lips.  
  
“Ben,” she moans breathlessly, squirming against his hands. She can take it. He can tell by how her head lolls to the opposite side to present the line of her throat to him.   
  
She may be impatient but if the little noises she’s making are any indication, she’s enjoying the build up as much as he is. So he continues lavishing her neck with attention. Or, more appropriately suckling beneath her ear like a leech.  
  
It _does_ things to him. Like make his balls draw up tight again and his stomach clench in anticipation. Ready to blow just like this.  
  
 _Fuck.  
  
_ He groans appreciatively as he releases the delectable skin at the side of her neck, embarking on a short journey to her collarbones. Her hips try to move against the cage he’s created with his hands.  
  
 _Nope.  
  
_ “ _Ben…”  
  
_ “Shhh,” he draws a wet trail of saliva across her left collarbone to the hollow of her throat, “let me make you feel good, sweetheart. It’s just us now.” He punctuates this with a deceptively gentle kiss to the little indent there.  
  
“It’s been so long,” she shudders, head rolling back.  
  
“I know baby,” he kisses down her sternum, using her hips to guide her. His fingers splay against the back of her pelvis and thumbs push up against her hip bones. Wordlessly communicating his intent for her to lean back and grant him better access. She responds so naturally it momentarily steals his breath.   
  
Her body arches back, giving him unfettered access to the breasts he’s been _dreaming_ about. He’s barely afforded them a heated glance, a quick visual grazing to take in the tantalizing sight of them through hooded lids before he licks one with a flat tongue.  
  
 _Fucking delicious_.  
  
He groans loudly against her skin before wrapping his lips around the little bud to suck and nibble. Twirling his tongue around the taut peak with purpose. It’s transcendent, having her here like this again. Warm and pliant and ready for _him_. His dick is absolutely _throbbing_ for attention. The waves of heat shooting down his spine intensifying again to a steady rhythm.  
  
She moans softly above him, hands gliding back up his chest to tangle in his hair and pull him closer.  
  
“I missed you so much,” he murmurs when he releases her, soothing a line of sloppy kisses across her chest to lavish her other breast. It’s not a lie. Has he told her already? Doesn’t matter, he needs to say it again.  
  
He latches onto her right nipple, flicking it gently with his tongue while suctioning in waves. Her breath hitches in response, he can feel it the way the soft swell of her breast stutters beneath his mouth. Then her fingers wrap around his hair and clench, creating a sweet pull against his scalp that shoots a bolt of pure fire to his groin.  
  
Even the most stubborn, calculated and controlled men have their breaking point. This is his.   
  
Unable to hold himself back, he releases her left hip to bring his hand down and squeeze at the base of his cock. It brings sweet relief from the building pressure.   
  
He might just - _yeah that’s good_ \- give himself a few gratifying strokes to take the edge off. So he can take care of her properly.   
  
_Shit_.   
  
He hisses as he works himself roughly with her nipple firmly clamped between his teeth. Even trying to control his circumstances he’s not sure he’ll be able to last. To give her the drawn out pleasure she deserves.  
  
Rey doesn’t miss the opportunity his lapse in judgement has afforded her though. Having found freedom from his iron grip she wastes no time in bearing down on him with gusto. Even through the thin scraps of bunched fabric between them he can feel her heat seeking friction. In fact, she seems extra keen on grinding down when she finds his knuckles wrapped around his length, working her core over the bony nubs there.  
  
Another line of pure fire licks down his spine and straight into his dick. He’s gonna come. He’s gonna fucking come because he’s got the taste of her skin on his tongue, her nipple clamped between his lips, and the way she’s rolling her hips against his knuckles sets a delicious stroking rhythm that can only lead to one thing. He’s also gonna come because he’s been depraved and he might as well be a fucking virgin again.  
  
 _Shit!  
  
_ He releases her nipple with a wet pop, taking a moment to appreciate its glistening state. Peaked to perfection and pointing at him in a _yes you there, come hither_ sort of way. Not that her nipples actually call out to him but … they kind of do. To his mouth, to be more precise.   
  
He sighs leaning his forehead against her sternum gritting his teeth like it’s his lifeline. The thinnest of threads tethering him to reality.  
  
“Babe, slow down,” he pleads watching her hips move. It’s entrancing. Better than watching the flames dance in the fireplace in that hypnotic way of theirs. Better than getting lost in the kaleidoscope of her eyes.   
  
_Nah_ that’s just his horny hindbrain trying to keep him in the moment, to thwart any attempts at slowing down. Pushing him into losing himself and giving his body (his dick, it’s his dick) what it wants.  
  
His eyes drop to the tie of the robe, chest heaving with panting breaths. Maybe he can buy himself some time to recoup and take a step back from the edge. Because that’s where he is now. He’s hanging onto the edge by a fucking fingernail. He’s literally a cunt hair’s width away from blowing his wad.  
  
His hand releases her hip and slides up her back to cup her head, tilting it down so he can capture her lips. _This_ kiss isn’t chaste. It’s _hungry_. Its desperate and artless. It’s deep and full of tongue and _fuck_ he’s gonna come. His stomach clenches ready to give the last push.  
  
Releasing his hand from its grip around the length of him, he grasps the tie of the robe with shaky fingers. She whines against his lips in protest. Until he pulls the tie and the robe falls open that is. Until he’s freed her of the fabric and quickly grazes two fingers between her legs to find her soaked. He hasn’t even touched her _there_ yet but her inner thighs, just millimeters off where he’s dying to be, are warm and sticky and it makes his mouth water.  
  
“Fuuuuck,” he groans against her lips, “you’re so … _mmf_ … perfect.”  
  
His fingers slide up to make contact and she sighs into his mouth, fingers grabbing tufts of his damp hair and fisting. First, he draws a little circle against her opening, collecting the delicious nectar there. Then, two fingers press ever so gently against her, shifting up and rolling her swollen clit with the newly acquired slide.  
  
And _then_ … she moans loudly into his mouth. Long and deep, like it’s coming from the very bottom of her soul. The kind that rattles his very bones, makes his lungs explode. It sends a shock down his spine that curls his toes and his stomach flexes extra hard and …   
  
“Fuck fuck _fuck_ , sweetheart I’m gonna…”  
  
 _404 Ben Solo not found. 301 redirect. All inquiries please hold for the next available brain cell.  
  
_ He’s ascended to a higher dimension, the force of his orgasm dampening his hearing and making his fingers twitch unbidden. Spurts of hot come drench the fabric of his robe and drip onto his stomach. He’s pulled her closer, groaning his release against her lips, frantically rubbing tight, firm circles against her clit. His mouth goes slack against hers as the waves of his orgasm render him boneless. Breath fanning over her open mouth in his seconds of weightlessness.  
  
“Shit, Rey … I-I didn’t mean …”  
  
His dick hates him. Because that little moan, the feel of her velvety soft bud on his fingers and the way her very presence has keyed him up, his dick just … let go. Embarrassing, like he’s a fucking touch starved virgin.  
  
 _You are_.  
  
She presses her lips back against him, shutting him up effectively. One hand sliding between their bodies to cover his and guide him to continue drawing little circles against her.  
  
“Ben … that was _hot_ ,” she murmurs, nipping his lower lip, “maybe uh, now we can … you know, put that mouth to good use?”  
  
 _God_ he loves her. Is there a deity for this? Whose altar does he have to lay a small fortune at in gratitude? How soon would a minister be available at the station so he can make her his _wife_ already?  
  
He’s twitchy and sensitive, ears still ringing and skin on fire. “ _Fuck_ I thought you’d never ask,” his fingers splay in her hair, cradling the shape of her perfect skull to pull her down for a searing kiss. Their joined hands skim low to gently press at her entrance. She’s so hot and _wet_ and Christ did his erection even go down? Or is his dick stoically flying at full mast until the battle’s won?  
  
“ _Mmmpf_ ,” her lips detach, “Ben … mouth!”  
  
 _Yes ma’am.  
  
_ “I fucking _love_ you,” he growls, leaning forward to attach himself to her neck. He must have been a leech in a past life. Note to self: ask uncle Luke about the merits of reincarnation theories.  
  
His hands wander back to her waist, holding her tightly to flip her onto the sofa. She lands with a squeak and a giggle, legs flailing in the air like landing strip markers. But exceptionally sexier than those holoprojections. Miles of tanned skin culminating in the gates of Heaven instead of blindingly blue pillars of light.  
  
Ben’s never believed in any of the religious babble peddled in the halls of the station. Religions, iterations and offshoots promising life after death, wealth, happiness, redemption. Whatever your weakness there was someone offering salvation, a solution. A balm for the wound you’re sporting. None of it ever held any appeal to him, though he could understand the draw in some of their impassioned pitches.  
  
But here? Looking down at _her_ , he thinks he can finally say he’s had a religious experience. _She_ was his own personal Mecca. He’d experienced the call to divination 8 years ago and has been on a pilgrimage to find his way back since. And now that he’s arrived at the promised land...  
  
He shifts her body gently until she’s leaning against the back of the sofa, legs splayed wide and dangling off the edge. His body folds onto the floor, kneeling onto the creaking boards ready to gorge his tastebuds on this _worthy_ meal. _Fuck_ he’s already salivating surrounded by the scent of her.  
  
“Ben,” she pushes his shoulder with her heel, “your knees!”  
  
“ ‘s fine,” he curls his fingers around her ankle to press a kiss there, “more important things to do right now.” Now that he’s not dancing on the precipice of certain doom, he can think more clearly. See the possibilities spread out before him.  
  
 _Like devouring your delicious little pussy.  
  
_ “Babe stop,” she whines, pushing again harder. It’s cute. The way she’s gained strength through rigorous training but still can’t move his frame.  
  
“You’re not a spring chicken anymore, Ben. I won’t have you limping around for the rest of our lives because you were too stubborn…”  
  
He lunges forward, nipping her inner thigh, “I’m open to suggestions then?”  
  
But _oh_ is he playing coy. Because he can see her gears grinding while he meticulously drags his tongue over the sensitive skin there. Mercilessly teasing just short of where he knows she needs him. He can see her wires frazzle with every swipe, see her eyes roll back when he hits an especially sensitive spot. _Fuck_ , he’s pretty sure his own do that when he gets a taste of some of her succulent wetness smeared on her inner thigh.  
  
“Wanna sit on my face?” It’s a particular fantasy he’s acquired about … _ohhh_ 5 minutes after the first time he’d tasted her. They’d never had a chance to try it and he’d been too chickenshit to ask. Not now though...  
  
“Ben, _no_. Stop that,” her hands push his face away when he sucks a bruise into her thigh, “you’re distracting. Let me think!”  
  
“I love distracting you,” he grunts, teasing a light lick on the opposite thigh. Tongue collecting the sticky arousal coating her there.  
  
“ _Fuck_ Ben!” Her body pushes off the sofa, sitting up straight and hiding her delectable cunt from view. He pouts unabashed, hoping on hope it’ll be enough to have her relent and let him bury his face between her thighs already.   
  
She’s beautiful like this. Naked and glowing, hair wild and unruly, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. Stubborn too. That little glint of determination in her eyes.  
  
“What do you want, sweetheart? A bed? Upstairs is pretty shaky and I don’t know about your parents...”  
  
“No, I …” she stands up and he has to tamp down the whine threatening to burst from his chest. He drops his head against the seat cushion unceremoniously with a frustrated groan. Pushing his nose into the seat and inhaling deeply, he can pick up the faintest trace of her. It’s intoxicating and he wants to lick it and … he’s being creep, isn’t he?  
  
There’s the sound of shuffling feet, billowing of textiles, then he hears her say “there.”  
  
He looks behind him only to have his heart jump into his throat. A cozy little nest of sorts right in front of the fireplace, like the perfect bubble just for them. She’s laid out the woolen blanket, doubled for maximum padding, as a makeshift pallet. Placed the two flattened pillows at the far end and draped her old duvet across it. And she, his beautiful precious soulmate, is sitting in the middle of it all, duvet clutched up to her neck, eyes glimmering with pride.  
  
“Perfect,” he mumbles reverently. He moves to crawl over to her, dragging his shins against the hard floor, hearing one of his knees pop. Maybe she has a point. It’s definitely rough on the joints.  
  
“Aah aah,” she points at him wagging her finger, “lose the robe.”  
  
He can’t help the smirk that grows on his face from knowing with certainty she wants _him_. Slowly, he pulls the tie at his waist and begins peeling the robe off. Wincing when his drying spend tugs at the sensitive skin of his cock. He bunches the fabric there to swipe roughly and clean himself off before tossing it aside.  
  
Yep, he’s still hard. He leans back to sit on his heels and pump himself slowly for her.   
  
_All for you my love_.  
  
Her eyes grow wide, throat bobbing on a swallow. “You, uh … you got, hot. Hotter … big. Bigger? Wide … you’re wider. _Shit_.”  
  
He squeezes the base of his cock, preening a little under her gaze. “I had a lot of anger to work off and unfettered access to the gym facilities,” he shrugs nonchalantly.  
  
“Jesus, Ben you’re … massive.”  
  
He crawls over the blanket to pin her down between his legs. Face hovering inches above hers. “Baby like?” His hand grasps the edge of the duvet to peel it off her glorious body, mouth pressing soft kisses against her lips.  
  
“Baby likes very much,” she grins, “now get in here you big lug.”   
  
In one fell swoop, he’s under the duvet, nestled between her legs and kissing his way down her body. Inch by inch tasting her skin, refamiliarizing himself with the landscape of her. The only tool he’s using to map her dips and valleys are his lips and mouth. He surprises himself with the control he’s able to exercise. Surprised he’s able to take the time to kiss down her body without going feral and just latching on again.  
  
When he finally _finally_ gets to where he needs to be, he hitches her legs over his shoulder, burrowing into the woolen blanket like he’s getting ready to tuck into a favourite meal. Wait, he is. Would it be uncouth for him to put on a bib? He doesn’t want to waste a single drop.  
  
He takes a deep inhale and licks his lips, savouring the anticipation and the scent of her. Just one whiff and he’s drunk. Absolutely, completely and unequivocally wasted.   
  
There’s no preamble or slow build. They’ve done that already. He would have been happy blowing out his knees in exchange for the opportunity to devour her pussy. But she thought of their future and here he is. Much more comfortable with his soulmate’s warm body squirming just for him.  
  
A particularly hearty gust of wind shakes the structure of the house. A reminder of the real world outside of the bubble they’re in. A reminder that _this is real_.  
  
And with that, he delves right in. Lips kissing the shiny puffy lips of her sex before licking a hot stripe up her center. Her hips buck and God if this isn’t the most incredible experience. He’d like to get lost in this. In _her_. Spend eternity dozing and waking to feed on her cunt, only to doze again sated.  
  
The taste of her explodes in his mouth, bathes his taste buds and fills his nose. Like a decadent bouquet. It’s bright and creamy, buttery and crisp. He’s briefly reminded of his mother tasting wines imported from some of the more prominent colonies. Describing the ‘opening bouquet as fruity and toasty’. He supposes there’s merit to comparing her flavour with wine considering he’s fucking drunk on it right now, but he pushes the thought out of his mind.  
  
“Fucking delicious,” he groans before sealing his mouth over her again. Tongue firm between her folds until he points it to flick against her bud. The resulting tremor of her body has him seeing stars.  
  
His body is on autopilot. Falling back into a routine they perfected years ago. A routine his body never forgot. Tongue tracing the contours of her, drawing lazy circles around the little nub that drives her wild. Nose buried in her soft curls, inhaling her aroma. Hands splayed wide caressing her thighs and keeping her open. He’s started grinding his erection into the blanket for some sweet relief of his own.   
  
It would be ridiculous to dilute their connection and describe it as merely sexual. There’s _so much more_ to them than this. Only, the intimacy between them is so compounded in these moments that he can’t separate him from her. They’re _one_ like this. Two souls concentrated so intimately they merge. Not blended or mixed. They’re fused together. It’s a permanent sort of splicing that can’t be undone.   
  
Her hips cant forward, bringing her closer to him and he presses his mouth and tongue against her in response. He chances a glance up to find her breathing has picked up, her stomach is clenching and unclenching. If he concentrates really hard (and ignores the buzzing in his ears) he can hear her soft mewls and breathless chants of his name.  
  
 _She’s close.  
  
_ Taking his cue, he suckles her clit and rolls it with his lips, sliding his bottom lip against it in waves to set her body alight. He lets his hands slide from her hips, up her body, over the soft planes of her stomach. Up and up to run his thumbs over the peaks of her nipples.  
  
The responding moan sends a shock straight to his cock. He uses his thumb and middle finger to pinch and roll her nipples. Uses his tongue to start drawing tight circles against the exposed bud of her clit he’s still sucking into his mouth. He knows he’s built her up to the edge. Knows what’s coming.  
  
“Ben,” she gasps, back arching off the blanket, “ ‘m gonna…”  
  
He moans with his mouth full. Because he also _knows_ the vibration will help tip her over the edge and he’s wanted nothing more than to make her come for 8 _long_ years.  
  
He’s wanted _a lot_ of things for 8 long years.  
  
Her hands reach to tangle in his hair and her back bows further and he hears her choke on a gasp and … she quivers. Every muscle in her body quakes and shakes while she pulls his hair, grinds against his face and releases a long drawn out moan.  
  
 _This is heaven_.  
  
He laps his tongue against her lazily. Helping prolong the orgasm while bring her down gently. Her hands go slack against his scalp and he knows she’s not coherent. Knows her body’s left the building and is floating among the stars in the wake of her orgasm. Occasionally twitching when he grazes a tender spot. He drinks in everything she gives him. Long laps of his tongue up the length of her before cupping to collect her release. Letting it coat the insides of his mouth before swallowing it down hungrily.  
  
Ben places a kiss to her inner thigh, murmuring endearments and admissions of love that he knows she can’t hear. Words he’s imprinting into her skin for later. For ever.  
  
He kisses his way up her body. Lingering every few inches he covers to memorize the warmth of the skin, the shape of the goosebumps he’s elicited. When he finally makes it to her face she smiles a goofy smile at him.  
  
“Hi,” she tucks a strand of his unruly hair behind his too-large ear. Her hand shakes and fingers twitch adorably.  
  
“Hi,” he returns her smile warmly. Hand reaching up to swipe his thumb across the constellation of freckles on her cheek.  
  
He can live here. This is good. This is fine. Just seeing her post orgasmic face is enough to fill his heart for eternity. She’s the piece of art he’ll turn to stone in front of so he can remain an immovable presence in its vicinity. Forever facing the delicate work that was made for him.  
  
“Ben?”  
  
He’s started tracing her collarbones with his fingers, ghosting patterns into the skin of her flushed chest.  
  
“Hmmm?”  
  
“I need you to … Ben? F-fuck me.”  
  
 _Mayday. Mayday. All available personnel to the bridge_.  
  
“Wha-”  
  
“Please, Ben. It’s been so long and I really miss you and I …” she looks down, then smirks, “hello there.”  
  
His cylinders are firing at full capacity. Possibly beyond because he’s pretty sure his brain is short circuiting. Wiring’s fried. Words are … nonsensical? What are words? Word .. that’s a weird word. Word word word.  
  
Her hand manages to find its way between them, little fingers grasping him tight and stroking. Long and luscious pumps that have his hips canting forward into her waiting fist. His head drops into the crook of her neck.  
  
“Sweetheart, we don’t … _fuck_ … have to. Tasting you was … _mmmpf_ … enough.”  
  
Yeah, words. Those little strings of letters and phonemes that are like a fucking jigsaw puzzle right now. And he’s pretty sure he’s drooling.  
  
She doesn’t say anything. Wriggles her legs to open her hips and cradle him. With her foot she nudges his butt forward to guide him home. She holds his length against her as he starts mindlessly thrusting. Rutting against her slicked core. Wetting the length of him with the delicious juices he didn’t manage to collect on his tongue. Or are those new?   
  
She feels so fucking good. He’s chasing his pleasure with single minded intent. Incapable of forming reasonable thoughts or sentences. Only grunting and groaning like a fucking caveman.  
  
His brain manages a single thought. A single sentence, “think you can come again?”  
  
“Fuck me and find out,” she purrs lining him up.  
  
 _When did she start talking like this? She’s fucking perfect_.  
  
His hips push forward unbidden and just the feel of her warmth enveloping the tip of his dick makes him shudder. A full body, wracking sort of shudder. Whatever string of coherent thought he was starting to piece together in his mind melts away.  
  
He lowers himself onto his forearms, letting the weight of him settle between her legs.   
  
“I just want you to know,” he pushes forward a little, burying the first inch of him in her, “that if this doesn’t last…”  
  
A few more inches slide in and she moans. His mouth goes slack against her collarbone. She feels mind meltingly good.  
  
“I’m blaming you,” he grinds out as he buries the rest of himself in her.  
  
She doesn’t seem to hear any of that. Instead she arches off their makeshift pallet and moans loudly.  
  
“Fuuuuck, Ben!”  
  
Thousands of years of human instinct kick in, setting him on autopilot again. He starts rolling his hips slowly, working his way into her in shallow thrusts that terminate in a grind he _knows_ will hit _that_ spot for her.  
  
He rocks into her gently, lovingly. It’s been a long time and he’s not sure if he’s hurting her. Judging by the way she writhes beneath him, the way her walls clench and pull him in deeper, he’d venture to guess he’s decidedly _not_ hurting her. But he’d rather be safe than sorry. Rey’s hips join the fray to meet him thrust for thrust and he’s _gone_.  
  
Not that he wasn’t gone before. He’d at least had bursts of clarity however brief. Now? Nothing but _her_.  
  
Raising his head he looks her in the eye, those beautiful pools of light and love he’ll never get enough of. Letting himself fall into their depths and letting the world around them melt away. His hand reaches for hers, twining their fingers as his rhythm picks up. A faster, more jagged rhythm that makes the soft swells of her breasts bounce against his slick chest.  
  
He presses their marks together triggering the hum of the bond.   
  
It could have been seconds. It could have been hours. Their sweaty bodies setting a wild rhythm that’s only their own. Neverending kisses and a tangle of tongues offset the beautiful drag of his length inside her. The air a symphony of their soft moans, the wet slaps of skin, and fire crackle.  
  
The vice around him tightens, little micropulses that signal her impending orgasm. When she finally begins to flutter, their mouths are locked in an eternal kiss. He lets her pull him over the edge with her, whispering his undying love into her ear as he spills into her.

The world goes white. Vision blurs and the galaxy unfurls before him because this ... this is _home_.

  
  
  



	18. Reciprocated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Thunder rolls on in the distance but the heavy rain patter hasn’t let up on the roof. He’s long grown accustomed to it. His brain filtering out the sound, dismissing it as background noise like the whirrs and beeps in his station quarters in the dead of night. It’s a subconscious choice to focus on the sounds he does want to hear. The soft crackling of the fire, the little puffs of air she huff in sleep. The sated little hums she releases sporadically._
> 
> _He yawns as discreetly as possible, trying to keep his chest steady for her. There’s a little trail of drool connecting her mouth to his pectoral, just below where her cheek presses against him. Instinctually, his arm wraps tighter around her waist, pulling her closer so he can kiss her forehead._
> 
> _They’d both come so hard they’d fallen asleep almost instantly. He doesn’t remember much in the afterglow. Gentle touches, stolen kisses, soft giggles and a blanket pulled up high. He’s not even sure which one of them passed out first. Only that however long he’s just slept for was the best rest he’s gotten in a very very long time._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give you part 2 of what was supposed to be the monstrosity of Ch. 17.

Thunder rolls on in the distance but the heavy rain patter hasn’t let up on the roof. He’s long grown accustomed to it. His brain filtering out the sound, dismissing it as background noise like the whirrs and beeps in his station quarters in the dead of night. It’s a subconscious choice to focus on the sounds he _does_ want to hear. The soft crackling of the fire, the little puffs of air she huff in sleep. The sated little hums she releases sporadically.  
  
He yawns as discreetly as possible, trying to keep his chest steady for her. There’s a little trail of drool connecting her mouth to his pectoral, just below where her cheek presses against him. Instinctually, his arm wraps tighter around her waist, pulling her closer so he can kiss her forehead.  
  
They’d both come so hard they’d fallen asleep almost instantly. He doesn’t remember much in the afterglow. Gentle touches, stolen kisses, soft giggles and a blanket pulled up high. He’s not even sure which one of them passed out first. Only that however long he’s just slept for was the best rest he’s gotten in a very _very_ long time.  
  
She stirs and her hand comes up to rest against the curve of his neck. A possessive little grasp accompanied by small shifts of her body to burrow closer to him in response to his hand tightening around her waist. She snuffles, then smacks her lips - sleepy little sounds he’d happily hear every moment of every day for the rest of his life.  
  
“Ben?” Her head tilts up to greet him. Sleep (sex it’s definitely sex) mussed hair, bleary eyes, lips swollen from _him_ , a shiny trail of saliva sticking to her chin…  
  
“Hey sweetheart,” he croaks, voice hoarse with sleep, “how’d you sleep?”  
  
She pushes herself up on her elbow, blinking a few times to get her bearings. Her cascading hair tickles his shoulder and the blanket slips to reveal the tantalizing curve of her breast and a peek at her dusky nipple. There’s a red patch blooming just above her nipple that fills his chest with pride.  
  
 _Mine mine mine.  
  
_ The returning smile she gives him melts his brain. Reduces him to a babbling mess. Liquefies the insides of his skull to sloshy jam. All he can do is smile back a goofy grin, crooked teeth and all, reaching out to thumb the little trail of spittle off her chin.  
  
She leans down to kiss him. Slow and unhurried. “Mmmm,” she hums appreciatively, “better than I have in years.”  
  
He reaches up to cup her jaw. To pull her in closer. To prolong this kiss.  
  
“Me too,” he murmurs against her lips, pressing a tender kiss there. First one, then two. The string of them morphing into a rolling wave of kisses. Slow and constant like the waters of the creek lapping against the dock. He wonders if that’s still there. Wonders if maybe they could take a trip back there and maybe relive some of their better moments.  
  
He particularly liked having her on the dock where the sunlight would dance over her tanned skin. The way it would highlight the soft rosy tone of her nipples and the way it would catch her arousal and make his cock glimmer when he’d pull out between thrusts. It made his dick look like one of those dreamy movie stars from the era of black and white films. Fuck he’s getting hard just thinking of having her there. Would she be able to handle it? It’s been a long time for both of them. Is she sore?  
  
“What time is it?” She’s stopped kissing him and is looking around confused. He groans his displeasure at the loss of contact.  
  
“Oh shush,” she swats his chest gently, getting up to plod around in the nude. He turns onto his stomach, resting his upper body on his elbows to watch her body maneuver around the space in his favourite outfit - nothing. It’s a nice view.  
  
“If we’re not cognizant of the time, we might end up with surprise visitors,” she offers over her shoulder. It takes him a moment to register what she’s saying, he’s utterly transfixed by the soft curve of her ass.  
  
 _Smart. She’s so fucking smart. How is it I deserve her again?  
  
_ “Grab my HoloPad from the duffle. It auto adjusts to local time.”  
  
“Not just a pretty face,” she quips, toeing over to the bag to unzip it and extract the pad.  
  
Ben snorts rolling onto his back. He feels glorious. Utterly fucking invincible. Is it possible for afterglow to _not_ wear off? Her feet appear next to his head, face lit up by the glow of the HoloPad. He has a fleeting thought of pulling her down to straddle his face. “Apparently we’ve slept for 3 hours. Shit it felt like a _lot_ longer. I feel so … refreshed,” she places the HoloPad on the coffee table.  
  
He reaches to massage her calf, deliberate presses against the finely sculpted muscle there.  
  
“Well it still sounds like it’s still going strong out there so … sit on my face?”  
  
There’s a parade going on in his head. Fanfare and confetti and a full marching band and all. With nothing to do and the rain still going strong, she’s totally going to do it. _Finally.  
  
_ She titters lightly, turning away. Padding over to the chair to grab her helmet. “As much as that’s a tempting offer … and I _will_ take you up on that sooner rather than later … it’s been a while and…”  
  
“You’re a little sore,” he finishes for her, a little disappointment colouring his tone. He’s rolling onto his side and folding down the duvet to create a little entry point for her.  
  
“Yeah,” she smiles, folding herself into the opening and placing the helmet next to their heads, “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” he kisses her bicep, it’s the nearest bit of skin he can get his mouth on, “besides … you said you’d take me up on the offer and an elephant never forgets.” He taps his index finger against his temple to accentuate the point.  
  
“Beeeeeen,” she swats his stomach playfully, “I said you were big … now you’re comparing yourself to an elephant?”  
  
He chuckles pulling her down by the waist to kiss her soundly.  
  
“What would you compare me to then, hmm?”  
  
She pretends to think it over while running her index finger from his neck down to his navel. “Stallion.”  
  
He blinks, surely he misheard…  
  
“Yeah, a stallion,” she says again with more conviction. Mischief in her eyes and a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  
  
Ben can’t help the snicker bubbling in his chest. It explodes out of him as a full blown howl and he drops his head to her sternum, letting the laughter wrack his body. It wasn’t _that_ funny, really, but the simplicity of the statement and the weight of the metaphor broke the floodgates to something he’s been holding back for a very long time. 8 years to be precise.  
  
8 years of laughter and joy floods out of him and onto her chest. Lungs burning for air and tears stinging his eyes because he hasn’t laughed this hard in _8 fucking years_.  
  
“Why…” he chokes between fits of laughter, “why that?”  
  
“Well, they’re magnificent beasts,” she giggles, carding her fingers through his hair, “and I’ve seen the term associated with virile masculinity on some of the less savoury books circulating at the market.”  
  
“So,” he manages between gasped breaths and fits of laughter, “I’m a magnificent beast?”  
  
At that she snorts and curls over him with the beginnings of laughter, letting herself get infected by his mirth.  
  
“You’re a monster!” She gasps between bursts of laughter.  
  
“Yes,” he heaves, “yes I am.”

  
  


...

  
  


He’s leaning against the arm of the sofa, Rey nestled between his legs and snuggled into the duvet. They’re eating another protein pack as a second round of thunder cracks outside. She made him. He’d had other ideas on what to eat but she insisted on ‘real sustenance’. He didn’t argue that her pussy _is_ sustenance, biting that comment back and ripping into the gritty pack.   
  
His HoloPad is resting against her raised knees like it’s on an easel. She’s scrolling through the photos he’d taken while they both mash the disgusting paste - he _really_ needs to do something about this stuff - and reminisce.  
  
“These are beautiful, Ben,” she pinches to zoom in on one of his favourites.  
  
It’s just shapes. The shape of her. The shape of him. Silhouettes of themselves against a painted sunset. Heads inches apart, lips touching. Dark midnight blue at the top shifting to ultraviolet purple and terminating in a sliver of magenta against the black horizon. Around their silhouetted shapes, a thousand little yellow lights fill the air.  
  
“I didn’t even know you took this one,” she whispers reverently.  
  
“It’s one of my favourites,” he kisses the slope of her neck.   
  
“Mmm, it’s beautiful,” she hums, bending her neck to give him better access, “what others are your favourites?”  
  
“That’s an unfair question,” he mumbles while his fingers dance across the screen to pull up another image, “I love them all equally because they’re of you.”  
  
The image he pulls up is his favourite to fall asleep to and the very last one he took. It’s of Rey snuggled up in the bed of the guest dome. Surrounded by white fluffy sheets and glowing in the early morning sun. Her eyes are closed, hair strewn over the pillow. She’s on her side, her left hand tucked up against her lip, curled in a loose fist. The ring stands out against the expanse of tanned skin and white bedding. A gleaming whisper of grey, a smattering of tightly wound swirls that add texture to the simple lines of the image. In sleep, she’s smiling contently.   
  
“I didn’t know you took this one either,” she murmurs, leaning her head against his jaw.  
  
“I love this one. I … I’d look at it every night I went to bed. To remember what it was like to sleep next to you. It helped me sleep … at least a little.”  
  
Her right hand reaches to interlace her fingers with his left. Pressing their marks together and stirring the bond. It feels so good, so pure, it makes tears spring in his eyes.  
  
 _This is what happiness feels like_.  
  
“There’s also this one,” he pinches to return to the collage of snapshots, maneuvering to one somewhere in the middle of the timeline.  
  
There’s Rey, sitting in one of the shoddy wooden chairs on her front porch. The sunrise well underway and casting her in its golden light. She’s in the middle of laughing, her teeth on full display, eyes scrunched and filled with joy. She’s leaning back into the chair cradling a mug of caf in both hands. Fingers curled around the mug like it’s the source of warmth on a cold day. The ring gleams in the morning light and the camera managed to capture a light flare from its glint.  
  
“That’s when my parents left us alone for a week right?”  
  
“Yeah. I love this one because it reminded me of what we could have had. Small tender moments that seem insignificant but … meant everything to me.”  
  
Her fingers tighten around his. The bond flares again, filling the air with a thick thrum.  
  
“This one,” he pinches out again, scrolling much further up, “reminds me of how goofy you could be. It would make me smile when I was really down.”  
  
He zooms into an image of her in the swollen waters of the creek. Her hair is wet and only her eyes are above the water’s edge. Everything below the bridge of her nose is submerged. Her eyes have a predatory glint to them that’s utterly endearing and never fails to make him smile.  
  
“That was right before you blew bubbles like a deranged hippo and pounced on me. Almost dropped the camera in the water. Remember?  
  
“I was pretending to be a _crocodile_ ,” she protests.  
  
“You were being a brat,” he pinches her side, making her squeak.  
  
“Your fault for watching those nature holos with me. _And_ you insisted we watch the jungle one,” she swats at his hand. “What else do you have in there Solo?”  
  
Fuck, the fact that she’s using his real name _does_ things to him. If you’d have told him a year ago they’d be looking back on their time together fondly, curled up in front of a fire, he would have laughed bitterly. Convinced wholeheartedly that he’d had no chance in hell of ever seeing her again. Much less holding her like this. Now?  
  
“This one,” he moves his fingers to select another close to her awful impression of a crocodile, “is quite possibly my favourite of them all, but it depends on my mood.”  
  
It’s a picture of Rey’s back. She’s walking away against the night sky. The dark silhouette of corn husks to her left, the light of the Skywalker’s domed structures to her right. She’s wearing the white eyelet dress and her braided hair sits loosely over her shoulder. Her face is in profile, looking up to the sky over the cornfields. A small smile tugging at her lips.  
  
“I…”  
  
“This was the night,” he kisses her temple, “that I realized I was a goner. Absolutely head over heels in love with you.”  
  
It was the night of their joint family dinner. The night that _should_ have set off bells about Jacen. The night he’d decided that wherever she wants to go, he’d take her. The night he realized his future was already bound with hers.  
  
“Ben,” she shifts in his arms, adjusting herself so she’s draped sideways over his lap. She doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, she snakes her hand behind his head and kisses the corner of his mouth. Long and slow. Lingering there just for the sake of closeness.  
  
“I knew the moment I thought you’d drowned.”  
  
“Well,” he pulls her close to place a chaste kiss on her nose, just a soft little press, “I knew the moment I saw you. Put my foot in my mouth and all but … the minute our eyes met I knew I’d be yours. The mark was just an added bonus.”  
  
“Alright, Ben,” she kisses him, shifting again to straddle his lap, “check mate. You win.”  
  
Fuck can she feel his erection? He’s fucking hard again. Thank God she hasn’t scooched closer. She’d think he was a perv of epic proportions. Even at the height of their relationship he’d always worried she would think he was perverted. He’s not. _He’s not_. He’s just got this Pavlovian response to her. Except in addition to salivation he also gets painfully hard. And loses capacity for speech.  
  
“I wanna show you something,” she murmurs, twisting her upper body to reach for her backpack on the coffee table. The twist places her breasts right in line with his mouth and he debates whether he should just capture one, just a quick lick. She pulls out her old sketchbook then swings her head to place a kiss on his jaw. Before he can consider what’s just happened, why he’s not currently attached to her nipple, she’s curled herself back into his lap, leaning her back against him.  
  
Instinctively he tries to adjust himself so she doesn’t have to feel his growing problem. She just wiggles closer and right into it.  
  
“Don’t try to hide him,” she gives an extra suggestive wiggle before settling in, “it’d be a shame to hide the greatest wonder of the galaxy from me.”  
  
Oh.  
  
 _Oh_.  
  
“Is that what you think of it?” He runs his hand over her abdomen, pulling her closer and grinding against the curve of her ass.  
  
“ _Him,_ ” she corrects. “And don’t let it get to your head,” she chides, but arches back into him anyway, “I’m just saying. I love you … but I also love your cock so … don’t be shy to share him with me.”  
  
His hand dips between her legs to find her soaked. _Fuck_.  
  
“I thought you were sore,” he grunts against her shoulder. His middle finger dipping low to draw a lazy circle around her swollen bud.  
  
“I am … _mmmh_ …”  
  
Oh he’s going to have her again. If he plays his cards right he might get to bend her over in a few minutes and watch her ass jiggle, watch his cock appear and disappear into her tight heat. He twitches against her lower back at the thought.  
  
“Show me what you’ve got there,” he teases, his finger continuing the slow twirling movement meant to drive her wild.  
  
She leans back against his chest, bracketing her legs outside of his to give him unfettered access, the little minx. He continues circling, enjoying the velvety slide while reaching his other hand up to grope her breast. Rolling her nipple with the pad of his thumb. She exhales softly, melting against him.  
  
Her hands nestle the sketchbook against the tightly drawn fabric of the duvet. She flips it open. Though her hands are trembling, he’s impressed she’s keeping this much control. Now that just won’t do, so he purposely swipes up, directly over her clit with a little more pressure.   
  
That successfully draws out a moan.   
  
He doesn’t know why he does it. Why he looks up when his eyes are watching his finger work her beautiful pussy. The way she’s bright pink and glistening, the way her wet flesh moves beneath his finger, the way she’s pliant and spread open before him. He could just as easily have cast his gaze at the delectable peak of her nipples. Watch the way his hand kneads the soft weight of her breast.   
  
But alas, he’s looked up at the sketchbook to see perfect imitations of his face. There he is in profile smiling, scraggly teeth and all. There he is head on smirking, hair wet and his giant ears on full display. There’s a closeup of his eyes in vivid detail. Another closeup of his mouth half open like he’s in awe.  
  
“What’s that?” His fingers have stopped moving, jarred by the sight of her sketches. He knew she was good. Knew she was always doodling something. Knew he was sometimes the focus of her work but this was…  
  
The way all of his photos were of her, all of her sketches were of him. A wave of fondness washes over him. It floods his very core with warmth.  
  
“You,” she utters breathlessly, canting her hips into his hand.  
  
“Show me more,” he urges as he starts again. This time working her clit with two fingers. More deliberate circles. More deliberate presses and swipes.  
  
She turns the page and there he is sitting on the dock playing with the settings of his camera. Face contorted and tongue bitten between his teeth.  
  
He shifts his hand down to ease his middle finger into her. In response, she tilts her hips up to open further for him moaning softly. He begins an easy slide, pumping his finger into her slowly.  
  
The page flips and there he is laying on the shitty old bench in her shed. One arm cradles his head while the other holds the HoloPad up loosely against his stomach. His leg dangles off the side. It’s the epitome of relaxation.  
  
His ring finger presses into her and she groans quietly, head lolling to the side. With two fingers inside he can feel the gripping warmth of her. The way her walls are slick and wanting.  
  
The page flips again and it’s their hands, fingers intertwined. Her small ones nestled perfectly between his bigger ones. Dirt under his nails and the filigree ring proudly wrapped around his finger.  
  
His thumb begins to work her swollen nub while he continues to draw into and out of her in a slow rhythm.  
  
She flips the page again and there he is, sleeping on his back. His right arm lays limply where she was probably cuddled into him. His left lays on his bare chest. The sheets are rumpled low on his hips and she’s even managed to capture the trail of hair below his navel that disappears under the sheets. His hair is a mess, his face is turned to the left and his mouth is open. He can practically hear himself snoring.  
  
“It’s a new … _aah_ … sketchpad,” she huffs between heavy breaths, “these are all from memory. Long after you’d left.”  
  
It hits him all at once. The depth of love she had for him. _Has_ for him. Has _always_ had for him. For so long he’d operated under the assumption that he was head over heels for her and she this magical person he was allowed to love. Not once did he consider that she might feel the same way. That she could love him as much as he loved her. That the weight of feeling he carried was reciprocated. Sure, they used to say it to one another all the time but _seeing_ it unearths a whole new depth he’d never known was there.  
  
“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he murmurs into her shoulder. He’s said it a hundred times. He’ll say it thousands more over the course of their lifetime. He’s meant it every time. He’ll _mean_ it every time. This time feels like he’s flaying his soul for her.   
  
Her walls start to flutter and she tilts her head back in a silent scream. He thumbs and pumps her through her silent orgasm, easing her through it while he lavishes her neck with kisses. His free hand wrapping around her possessively, holding her close while her body shudders.  
  
It’s tender and quiet. With the thunder rolling and the rain pelting and the fire crackling. His hand is buried inside her, body draped over her and the only sound in the room is her jagged breathing and the squelch of his fingers slowly bringing her down.   
  
It’s magnificent, is what it is. A glimpse into their future and...  
  
The helmet chooses exactly that moment to blare and wail.  
  
 _I swear to fuck if that’s Dameron…  
  
_ Ben uses his free hand to flip the mic switch while pressing a kiss against her temple.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Uh, Pi Gamma?” Yep, Dameron’s dead.  
  
“It’s Ben. What do you want Poe?”  
  
“Uh … where’s Pi Gamma?”  
  
“She’s busy. _What do you want Poe_?” He enunciates the latter half angrily. How _dare_ he interrupt his tender moment. He eases his fingers out of her, circling them around her clit to prolong her pleasure.  
  
“Right, well … I’ve commed to tell you there’s a second cell moving in. Display says it’s due in about an hour’s time.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“Can I just … can I please talk to the security lead?” Poe’s voice takes on an annoyed edge.  
  
 _Welcome to the party asshat_.  
  
“Copy. I'm here Dameron,” Rey sounds hoarse. He wants to wrap her up in the blanket and cocoon her forever. He does, pull the blanket up and wrap his arms around her, that is.  
  
“Oh good. So, uh, another cell is moving this way. Should arrive in about an hour’s time. The rain is also pretty heavy. What should we do?”  
  
Rey pretends to think it over, even though he can feel in his very bones she already knows what to say and do. He already _knows_ they’re not leaving tonight. A prospect that has him all but buzzing with excitement.  
  
“What’s the visibility right now?”  
  
“Eeh,” Poe’s voice sounds like it’s moving away, “less than 200m.”  
  
“Right. So, I'm thinking you keep the shuttle secure and I’ll bring Solo back when the weather improves. What’s the projected timeline on the system?”  
  
“Projection is at 12 hours plus. Will probably change though. Depends on how hard it’ll rain, how much it wrings itself out. You know how these things are.”  
  
“Alright, we’ll bunk down here overnight then and return at first light. Unless anything changes of course.”  
  
“Do uh,” Poe stammers, “do you have enough supplies?”  
  
“Affirmative.”  
  
Poe sounds like he’s blustering, searching for a reason to keep the conversation going. Sounds of half formed words that have no meaning transmit across the comm and stop.  
  
“Everything’ll be alright Dameron. Solo is safe.”  
  
“Okay,” Poe relents, a huff of air audible through the speaker, “how’s his search going?”  
  
Is he fucking serious? This isn’t a social call. If he wants to chat he should fish out his personal comm and talk to Kay. Ben’s pretty sure the mission was expected to be wrapped up by now. He _should_ be setting his fiancée at ease instead of wasting their time.  
  
“Actually,” Ben chimes in, “I’ve found what I was looking for. Have a good night Poe.”  
  
He reaches over and flips off the mic.

  
  


…

  
  


After having her in the shower (bathing together conserves water, that was the excuse they both settled on) and then again on the sofa (where she rode him into another dimension), they lay snuggled under the duvet by the fire. It turns out, orgasms have this wonderfully sneaky little way of numbing any soreness she felt. As does having close contact with the soulmate you haven’t seen in nearly a decade.  
  
Ben had thrown in a few new logs to make sure the fire would last the night and adjusted his wet clothes to dry from another angle. He’s laying on his back dozing with Rey draped over him like a ragdoll.  
  
Nothing could make this moment more perfect.  
  
 _Nothing.  
  
_ Then he remembers.  
  
“Sweetheart, do you still want to see Naboo?”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this too late in the game to admit that when I'd have this dream I'd wake up in one of 2 states: horny or heart heavy? 
> 
> Well now it's there, in the open.


	19. To The Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _What wakes him up is a low whistling sound. It’s not wind. It’s not animal either. It’s obnoxious like a mosquito hovering around your ear and buzzing incessantly and it’s…_
> 
> _A kettle?_
> 
> _He cracks his eyes open a sliver to see the room is darker. The fire’s been reduced to glowing embers and what looks like early morning sunlight filters through the cracks in the shutters. The spot beside him is empty and he feels the beginnings of panic start to bubble in his chest._
> 
> _Did he imagine it all? Did he let himself get carried away in some fantasy? Did his brain really just concoct the entire thing and he’s spent the night alone at the old Niima stead?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter count went up (it might also go up one more) but I swear that's it! Home stretch!!

What wakes him up is a low whistling sound. It’s not wind. It’s not animal either. It’s obnoxious like a mosquito hovering around your ear and buzzing incessantly and it’s…  
  
A kettle?  
  
He cracks his eyes open a sliver to see the room is darker. The fire’s been reduced to glowing embers and what looks like early morning sunlight filters through the cracks in the shutters. The spot beside him is empty and he feels the beginnings of panic start to bubble in his chest.   
  
Did he imagine it all? Did he let himself get carried away in some fantasy? Did his brain really just concoct the entire thing and he’s spent the night alone at the old Niima stead?  
  
There’s no way. It had all been so real. He can still feel the faint linger of her fingers on his skin. Can hear the content whisper of her voice admitting that ‘yes, Ben, I still want to see Naboo. But only if it’s with you’. Can hear himself respond in a sleepy haze that of course they’d go together and that he’s got a surprise for her. Remembers succumbing to the insistent tendrils of sleep feeling utterly content for the first time in 8 years. He _couldn’t_ have imagined that. Could he?  
  
There’s a soft shuffle at the far end of the room near where the obnoxious whistling’s coming from. His ear ticks reflexively to tune into it, confirming that, yep, there’s definitely movement.  
  
Rolling over he finds that, yes, there’s definitely no one beside him but there’s also a very human indent in the woolen blanket and a very deliberate fold in the duvet. When his eyes adjust, he glances into the kitchen to see her standing there. Elbows resting on the counter as she waits for the kettle to boil water. A little packet of instant caf dangling from her finger. Relief floods him like a drink of cold water on a hot day.  
  
Above all though, she’s still gloriously naked. Her foot wrapped around her ankle, sliding up and down her calf in a self-soothing caress, ass on full display and a tantalizing hint of pink peeking from between her thighs. The curve of her spine beckoning him to slide his hand down like a perfectly crafted ski slope he’s seen in a holo once or twice.   
  
Yep, he’s hard. It was instant, though he can’t be sure he didn’t just wake up with it. Frankly he’s surprised he could still get it up. After 8 years and last night’s activities, he _should_ be spent. Then again, for her he’s insatiable.  
  
He doesn’t _mean_ to sneak up on her. In fact, he makes sure to rustle the duvet as he pulls it off himself. Makes sure his footsteps are audible. It’s surprising she didn’t even hear him crack his back and neck stretching. Apparently she’s entranced by the whistling of the kettle. Or deep in thought. Or maybe she’s half asleep in desperate need for that little packet of caf. Or … maybe she’s daydreaming about his cock? That’s a nice thought...  
  
By the time he gets to her, by the time he’s placed his hands on her hips, she yelps in surprise, body jolting beneath his fingers. The little caf packet drops onto the counter and she squeals, “Jesus, Ben, you scared the shit out of me.”  
  
“Good morning to you too, sweetheart,” he grumbles sleepily, leaning in to kiss her shoulder. Arms sliding from her hips around her belly to pull her in close. He slots his erection between her ass cheeks and drapes himself over her lazily. Warm skin meeting warm skin.  
  
“What’re you doing here all naked? Should be in bed with me.”  
  
He wants to pick her up and carry her over his shoulder back to their makeshift pallet. Lay her out and nestle between her legs. Have breakfast in bed so to speak. Actually, that sounds really good right about now…  
  
“Making sure you’re not a grump,” she pushes her hips back against him, wiggling in a way that has him sucking in a sharp breath, “you’re always grumpy without caf.”  
  
“Mmpf,” he grunts into her shoulder, hands shifting back to her hips to grind himself against the smooth pliant skin of her derriere.  
  
“My point exactly,” she giggles, hands dropping to grip the edge of the counter. To offer more resistances. It feels fucking glorious. He was hard before, sure, but now he’s just flat out horny.  
  
His hands grip harder, thumbs sinking into the grooves of those delectable dimples above her ass, bending her further. Spine curving seductively under the applied pressure as he continues an easy grind. He can feel she’s wet. Can feel it the way his balls have gained an uncanny slide to them as they rub over her.   
  
_Is she sore?_ He hopes not because right now he’s one track minded. He wants to bury himself in her tight little cunt and watch her milk him dry.  
  
“Fuck,” he mumbles sleepily, “fuck the caf. You know what would make my morning?” He slides one hand up her body to knead her breast. Lifting her torso up in the process to press her against his chest and nuzzle into her neck.  
  
He has a fleeting thought - maybe he shouldn’t be groping her outright first thing in the morning? What if all she wanted was to make him a cup of caf and snuggle? And his horny ass just came out guns blazing.   
  
His sleep hazed brain decides not to dwell on that. Besides, the way she’s grinding back tells him she’s receptive. And fuck if that doesn’t feel fantastic. The way his dick is hypersensitive from sleep he won’t last long.  
  
“Breakfast?” She teases breathily.  
  
“Brat,” he pulls his hips back to let the weight of his erection slip between her legs, nuzzling right there to start a slow rhythmic glide between her sopping folds, “this.”  
  
Ben’s always been a little jealous of the men he’s seen in pornos. Not that he wishes he had someone else’s dick. Rey likes his just fine and that’s more than he could ask for. There’s just something about an erection that can stand at full mast. An unmistakable perpendicular greeting, if you will. He’s a bit bigger than your average guy which, in turn, means his erections look a bit like he’s dangling an overstuffed sausage. He’s not complaining in the slightest, it’s just the visual he wishes he could give her sometimes. Just so he can undress and have it stand up gloriously to greet her instead of looking suspiciously flaccid. He wants her to _see_ just how much she affects him. Except right now that’s working for him so … _thank you whatever deity I’m racking up a bill with!  
  
_ He makes sure she knows exactly what ‘this’ he’s referring to by grinding up to put pressure against her clit. Sliding the ridge of his head right against that little bud to leave no room for misinterpretation. Her body bucks against him, ready and willing. _Responsive.  
  
_ “So no breakfast then?” Her question comes out ragged. Voice thick with need.  
  
“Oh I’m having breakfast,” he rasps against the shell of her ear, “the question is, what are you feeding me?”  
  
He doesn’t wait for her to answer. He knows _exactly_ what he’s having for breakfast, and now that the offers on the table, who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth? So he lazily kisses his way down from her neck to the divet between her flexed shoulder blades. Trailing his lips and tongue down the curve of her spine, hands tracing her sides with featherlight touches.   
  
The kettle’s whistle’s gotten louder, but now the air is mingled with the sultry sound of her panting and the wet pop of his trailed kisses. His groggy mind likes this blend of sounds _very_ much.  
  
He kisses his way down to those delectable dimples, running his tongue across each before gently biting into the flesh of her upper glute. Fucking delicious. Squatting down slowly, he guides her leg up to the counter, resting her knee there to open her up to him.  
  
Maybe he’s still got gunk in his eyes, but her pussy is positively glistening. Like a plump pink apple ready to be devoured. He runs his hands up her thighs to grip the underside of her ass, squeezing and massaging, watching the movements shift her lips like she's calling out to him. Lips parting with each knead in conversation. It looks like she’s talking to him, beckoning him to taste. His stomach may or may not be growling.  
  
Ben’s never fully appreciated her height until now. Being tall himself, he’s always had a rough time with standard counter heights, finding he has to hunch over to get even basic things done. Hell, he remembers baking bread on exactly this one and having to bend awkwardly to measure out ingredients. Rey, too, has height on her side. Next to him she looks small, sure. In reality he knows she’s taller than your average woman. That means her leg can bracket the counter comfortably right now so he can enjoy his breakfast in peace.  
  
A little voice in his head preens. _You’ll have strong children. Big and tall_.  
  
 _And hopefully with her ears_ , he throws back.  
  
He can see her clenching needily. See a juicy little glimmering droplet of arousal start its slow descent to her clit. It’s enticing as fuck and he leans in to lick a hot stripe across the length of her. Collecting that little bead and letting the flavour explode in his mouth. He groans leaning his head against her thigh to take a quick time out. Overwhelmed with sensation.  
  
“Ben,” she moans, lifting onto her toes, and he knows. He _knows_ what she’s asking for.  
  
“Shhh, babe,” he whispers to her cunt, “I’m enjoying my breakfast.”  
  
He places a soft, wet kiss against her. Letting his lips slot against her glistening core. “And I don’t want to hear anything about my knees,” he warns before delving in.   
  
First, he nuzzles her messily, covering his nose, mouth and chin in her arousal. Enjoying the caress of her soft lips against the planes of his face. Surrounding himself with her aroma. Like a pig in mud as the saying goes. Then he starts lapping. Soft little kitten licks with a flattened tongue to map out the contours of her. To appreciate the texture of her.  
  
 _More_.  
  
He grips her thighs and seals his mouth over her. Groaning dreamily as he flicks and laps, running his tongue in zigzags over her in the way he knows will make her dizzy. She’s panting heavily now, harsh exhales and quiet moans. He suckles at her clit in rolling waves and feels her growing wetter. Feels the juice slide down his nose where it’s pressed against her entrance.  
  
 _More!  
  
_ He starts stroking himself, utterly lost in sensation. Mouthing at her hungrily.  
  
“Taste so good, sweetheart,” he sucks loudly, releasing her with a pop, “what a delicious breakfast you made me.”  
  
“Ben,” a whimper barely audible over the sound of the kettle.  
  
“What do you want, baby? Can I fuck you? Or do you wanna come on my tongue?”  
  
He doesn’t wait for her to answer. Surges back to devour her, rolling his tongue against her desperately to give her all the pleasure she deserves. Give her everything he has. This is fine. More than fine. It's perfect. He'll eat her out until she comes all over his face and he'll jerk himself off until he spills all over his hand.   
  
“Inside,” a whisper. He’s not even sure he heard her over the lewd noises he’s making while he’s gorging.   
  
“What’s that?” He pulls off her, replacing his mouth with his free hand to keep her on a knife’s edge.  
  
“Inside, Ben. I need you inside me,” a little louder. A little needier.  
  
 _MORE.  
  
_ He’s already rock hard and weeping. Slathered in her juices from his earlier slide and begging to be hugged by her scorching heat. It takes nothing for him to rise and notch himself at her entrance.  
  
Without further prompting, without preamble or fanfare, he grips the base of his cock to slowly push in. Watching the way her lips part for him, hypnotized by the sight. She’s so _fucking_ tight in the morning. The heat of her squeezing his head like a vice. It’s literally melting whatever brain cells have managed to wake up in the first place.  
  
He eases himself in, one inch at a time while gripping the base to stabilize until he’s fully seated. His other hand travels up her chest to gently settle at her jaw, pulling her body up against him, head resting against his shoulder.  
  
“Mmmmm,” he coos, “we should start every morning like this.”  
  
He punctuates this by sliding home. They both groan in unison. Lazy sleepy sounds that barely register over the whistle of the kettle.   
  
Keeping himself fully seated, his hand moves up to knead her ass before sliding forward to dip between her legs. His fingers run down to trace her lips and divide where he’s splitting her open.  
  
“Fuck,” he grunts, hips pushing forward and grinding. He pulls out halfway slowly only to slide back home lazily. Her insides clench around him and his vision blurs. And that’s when the last shred of control in him snaps.  
  
He’s breathing heavily on her ear, pants fanning over her cheek while he thrusts at a slow tempo and holds her lips open with his fingers. Ben’s never been a music man, but if he were to venture a guess he’d be hitting a rhythm of about 30 beats per minute right now.  
  
“This what you had in mind when you stood at the counter teasing me with your ass on display?”  
  
“Yes,” her head lolls against his shoulder.   
  
“Shit you're out of this world,” he grunts, suckling at his favourite spot under her ear, “lemme see you, let me see that pretty little pussy gobble up my cock.”  
  
He releases her jaw bringing his hand between her shoulder blades. Pushing her down so the curve of her spine unfurls before him. Fingers tracing the nubs of her spinal column on their way back to her hip while he increases his rhythm. Gotta be at 50 bpm right about now.  
  
His fingers grasp at her hip to steady their movements. To hold her still for perusal. Leaning back to watch himself appear and disappear inside her. The sight so heady he releases a loud animalistic groan.  
  
She’s writhing and bucking back, moaning softly and chanting his name at regular intervals and he feels unhinged. Sweat beginning to bead on his forehead and slicking his chest. Chasing his pleasure and watching her swallow him whole only to return him shiny and slick and _holy fuck_ he’s gonna come.  
  
Her back arches and one of her hands releases the edge of the counter to snake low. To play with herself he assumes and that just won’t do.  
  
He releases one hand to swat her away, replacing it with his own. Swirling lazy circles and gauging her reaction by how tightly she grips him. He needs her there with him.  
  
It’s too early. He’s too sensitive. She’s too much. He drapes himself over her mouthing at the curve of her neck and reaching his left hand up to interlace with her right.  
  
“Come with me, sweetheart,” he presses their mark together, breath fanning over the delicate skin he’s been mauling. He increases the pace, gotta he hitting 70 bpm right now. It’s hard to tell. His brain is firing so hard on all cylinders his cognizance is but the thinnest of slivers.   
  
He grits his teeth and begs her wordlessly in grunts and moans. Rubbing haphazard circles over her swollen clit in hopes of bringing her to the edge with him. Pleasure pools low in his spine, clenches his abdomen and draws his balls tight.  
  
… then he feels it.  
  
The telltale micropulses inside her that tells him she’s there. He begins pawing at her mindlessly, flicking sloppily as she begins to grow tighter and tighter. The clench slowing his rhythm and offering him mind melting friction that sets him drooling.   
  
“Ben, ‘m gonna,” her fingers grip his and the bond roars and he bears down one more time as she starts quaking.   
  
Ben’s seen the training programs. Has seen this tumbling contraption they use to teach agents how to handle a tailspin in space. Has seen the force with which it tumbles and rolls those strapped inside. Has seen them limp out of it like newborn deer all wobbly legged and on the verge of puking (some even do). That’s what his dick feels like right now. Like it’s caught in a shuttle hurtling through space.  
  
She’s milking him so wholly, white spots begin to crowd his vision and he comes with a low moan pressed into her neck while the kettle whistles at full volume and maybe water begins to roll.  
  
He can’t see a thing. All his senses have dulled from the crescendo of pleasure that’s just wracked his body. He can hear himself breathing heavily. Can feel himself twitching with the remnants of _that_ orgasm. But he’s not really there. His mind’s among the clouds soaring.  
  
He stands there, draped over top of her. Boneless and sated. His cock softening inside her oozing warmth. He can feel his spend dripping out of her. Can feel her knees buckle and thighs quiver. Can feel his own legs shake.  
  
They stay here for a few moments catching their breaths. Finding their centre and coming back down from the high.  
  
Suddenly he feels her back heave. Is she…  
  
“So ... how about some caf?” She laughs, letting her head drop on the counter.

  
  


…

  
  


She made him eat another one of those dreadful protein rations. Even caf doesn’t make it taste any better. Doesn’t soften the gritty texture or mask the odd flavour.  
  
He _did_ get to eat her out again in the shower though. So that balanced things out. It was a marvellous way to replace the protein pack’s flavour with one he’d _much_ rather have lingering. Though the pesky water kept diluting the taste of her.  
  
He briefly considers looking up if you can be addicted to eating pussy. It seems probable. _He_ is. But that’s not a problem is it? Is this type of addiction considered problematic? It’s technically a substance, but does this count as substance abuse?  
  
And if that hadn’t been enough, she decided to suck him off in the shower after. The sight of her lips stretched tight around his girth had him seeing stars. Watching himself spill down her throat, seeing it bob as she swallowed what felt like the biggest load of his life. He’d literally had to lean against the shower wall, press his head against the cool tiles to stop himself from fainting after that one. He’s pretty sure his balls have shrunk to the size of raisins, having been so wholly drained over the last 24 hours.  
  
Now they’re fully dressed (begrudgingly) standing on the porch. The stupid GxSuit hiding that beautiful body from his sight. At least she’s kept her helmet off so he could see her face for now.  
  
There’s dew on the corn stalks that makes them glitter in the morning sun. He can’t help but feel like it’s a sign. Everything glimmering and refreshed like them. Ready for a new beginning. For a new growth. Heavy and sated from the nourishing rains.  
  
They lace their fingers together. Even though their gloves are on now, he can feel the bond around them. Feel the ever present weight of it, a soothing force surrounding them.  
  
Whatever they face from here on, they’ll do together. Hand in hand the way the universe intended for them.   
  
When he read fairytales as a child, he always dreamed he’d find his princess. He knows it’s not very ‘masculine’ to have dreamed of these things, but he did. His mother always taught him that gender bias was still running strong, that it’s okay to like things others may consider feminine, that it’s good to follow your heart instead of social norms. He’d never considered his romantic side to be anything to be ashamed of. The idea of a great love layered with adventure always held a sort of magical quality he wanted to reach out and grasp. He’d never dreamed he’d find someone tailored to him so wholly. Then again, maybe he was tailored for her. Maybe they were cut from the same cloth and needed to be brought together under the right circumstances.   
  
The _why_ and the _how_ don’t matter anymore tough. Because today is the first day of the rest of their lives.  
  
“Can we say goodbye?” He asks quietly, hoping she’ll understand the request.  
  
Her head turns and the world around him melts. The dewy glow of the landscape, the ribbons of fog on the ground, the dreamy tint of the morning sunrise all forgotten because his soulmate is smiling at him. That million watt smile that could power an entire star system for an eternity.  
  
“I’d like that,” she beams, turning on her toes to press a kiss into the corner of his mouth.  
  
His fingers grasp a little tighter, clutching her protectively. Maybe one day he won’t feel the need to hold on so tight. Maybe one day he’ll be content just loosely clasping a few fingers. But today isn’t one day. Today is the very beginning.  
  
Together they descend the few rickety steps onto the muddy earth. Stroll around the corner of the house silently, to the back where the old oak tree has kept watch over her family. Where its unbending branches hovered protectively over her ancestors and sheltered them from the storm. Together they stand, hand in hand, bidding them goodbye silently.  
  
Ben thanks her mother for raising such an incredible woman. For imparting her with the spirit of a warrior and a heart of gold. He thanks her for teaching him how to bake, how to mend a hole in a sock. How to love her daughter so wholly she became his entire world. Thanks her for the light banter while they mixed muffins and lined bread pans. When she’d give him little tips on how to deal with Rey. How she’d given him her blessing the morning he arrived and Rey had gone to the outpost with her father.  
  
‘ _She’s stubborn like her father, but she cares about you. I can tell. And you care about her. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I think you two will make each other very happy.’  
  
_ Ben thanks her father for imparting her with strength and endurance. A lifetime’s worth of practical knowledge. He thanks him for not killing him on sight. For allowing him the opportunity to court his daughter. To _love_ her. For showing him the value of a hard day’s work and what the love of a father looks like. He thanks him, too, for giving his blessing. For pulling him aside and jokingly telling him:  
  
‘ _If she ever hurts you or breaks your heart, you tell me and I’ll take care of her, alright? She’s stubborn like her old man but she loves you. I can tell. ‘Sides, you two honestly share a brain cell. Sayin’ the same things and all. It’s uncanny, really. Two peas in a pod as my father-in-law used to say.’  
  
_ Ben loves his own parents. He does. He _really_ does. But the Niimas managed to carve out a little piece of his heart. They were salt of the earth kind of people. The kind that barely had enough to feed themselves but tried to put together a wholesome meal for an unknown guest. The kind that would gift you the only shirt they owned so you didn’t have to get sunburned. The kind of people that laughed from the bottoms of their bellies, cried from the depths of their hearts, and loved with every bit of their souls. And he’s lucky enough to have known them. To carry their memory with him. To honour their legacy with their daughter.  
  
When he came down to Earth all those years ago, he didn’t know he’d find the space in his heart to love another person as much as he loved his parents. He didn’t find room for just one, he found room for _three_.  
  
A lone tear rolls down his cheek.  
  
 _Goodbye Mr. and Mrs. Niima. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. For us. We’ll carry on your legacy and make you proud. I will never forget you_.  
  
Her fingers squeeze his, a gentle press that reminds him of where he is. Draws him out of his memories. He feels her gloved finger on his cheek, wiping.   
  
“They loved you, you know?” she admits quietly.  
  
 _I know_.  
  
“And I loved them,” he answers honestly, turning his head to her. To the future.  
  
She presses up on her toes, presses a kiss to his lips.  
  
“Let’s go.”

  
  


…

  
  


Their plan was half-assed. They both knew it. They even joked about it on the way back instead of trying to at least draft up something more substantial. Not that it was a long ride to begin with. The best they’d come up with is that she’d wear her full suit, helmet and all, then she’d take it off and they’d confront Jacen. That’s it.   
  
It was terrible at best, and that was being very generous. Ben’s always been a bit on the anxious side, so over-preparation is kind of his mantra. _Especially_ when walking into tense situations or confrontations. He really should thank Poe for at least working out some of the really bad panic attacks he used to have. The amount of times they’d get in trouble together has taught him to only freak out on the _inside._   
  
Did the voice inside his head still tell him he was a failure? That he wasn’t worthy of his family’s legacy? _Yes._ Did he start crying like a toddler on the outside? _Not anymore.  
  
_ Hands interlaced between the seats, he maneuvers the speeder down the dirt road and back onto the Skywalker property, pulling it alongside the shuttle. He takes a deep breath, filling his lungs to the brim and stretching his diaphragm to the limit.  
  
“Ready?”  
  
“Affirmative.”  
  
It’s a joke. It’s said in jest. He knows it because he knows her. Can _feel_ her. But the voice modulator doesn’t let him read her tone. It’s unnerving and makes him fidgety.  
  
He wonders what her voice had sounded like those few times they talked before he knew it was her. If her voice warbled. If it was thick with emotions that were filtered out by the helmet. Wonders if he’d have figured it out if only he’d paid more attention.  
  
“Hey, sweetheart?” An idea forms. It’s nothing big. Nothing to write home about but … it could be good practice.  
  
“Yeah?” her helmet turns to him and he wants to rip it off. See her face again. It’s been too long. Is 15 minutes too long? To him it is...  
  
“Wanna practice real quick?”  
  
Her helmet tilts to the side in question.  
  
“Fuck with Poe,” he grins mischievously.  
  
“Ooh I like _that_.”  
  
He can’t really tell what her reaction is beyond the emphasis on ‘that’ and it irks him.  
  
“I hate that helmet,” he grumbles.  
  
Her fingers reach for his in response, giving him a reassuring squeeze. She’s quiet for a few moments, looking out into the distance like she used to do when she was feeling the wind.   
  
“Xi Iota is walking perimeter and Psi Delta is guarding the main house. Dameron’s alone in the shuttle. Lead the way?”  
  
He supposes this is as good a time as any. A quick glance at the extended ramp, the darkened bowels of the shuttle and back at Rey. Taking a deep breath he nods, short and determined.  
  
 _Let’s do this_.  
  
Together they ascend the ramp into the interior of the shuttle. It’s deadly silent with the exception of the morning breeze rolling through the field, rustling the growing stalks. Rey’s helmet turns towards the cockpit and he knows. That’s where Poe’s hiding. That’s where he’s holed up. Her sensors have picked him up.  
  
“Poe?”   
  
There’s a thump from behind the closed door. A muffled _fuck_. The clinking of a belt maybe?  
  
“Ben?” Poe’s sleepy voice calls back only moments before the cockpit door slides open and he stumbles out. He’s bleary eyed and his flight suit is dishevelled as is his hair. “Oh thank _fuck_! I was going to comm Pi Gamma to get a status update on your whereabouts but then I … uh … aww fuck it, I fell asleep. Did you see that storm? Holy shit! You don’t get to witness that up there. Christ I barely slept a wink. Your great-uncle really knows his shit … let us stay in the main house and told us the story of you and this girl named Rey and … how was your night anyway? Did you sleep okay? Your mother pinged the shuttle for an update by the way. Oh hi, Pi Gamma…”  
  
Poe glances at Rey, taking a few deep breaths and pushing his palms into his eye sockets. “Sorry, sorry. I’m blathering aren’t I?”   
  
Ben nods amused. “Yeah, yeah you are.”   
  
Poe grabs Ben and wrestles him into a bear hug, smacking his back roughly. “I was worried about you man.”  
  
“I’ve weathered worse,” he glances at Rey and smiles. He can’t see her face (that _fucking_ helmet) but he can feel her smiling back. “Weather down here is all over the place but it grows on you.”  
  
“Jesus, I don’t know how you did it,” Poe steps back running a hand through his messy curls. “I’ll tell you what though, Earth ain’t for me. That’s for sure.”  
  
He pauses and looks at Rey, then back to Ben, brows furrowed in confusion. Looking at how they’re probably standing stock still within a foot of each other. Or maybe he’s just dumbstruck by the unwavering smirk on Ben’s face. Something no one’s seen in … _ooh_ 8 years?  
  
“You … you look different,” he squints tilting his head. Ben can’t help letting the crooked smirk bloom into a full blown grin on his face. Nor does he half-ass an attempt at hiding it. “Youuu,” Poe drags the word out, finger wagging in front of his face, “you said last night you found what you were looking for. So? Where is she?”  
  
“I did,” Ben looks back at Rey, or more appropriately, Pi Gamma at the moment. He reaches his hand back for her in a bid to join him.  
  
She steps forward, unclipping her mask with one hand while the other slots her fingers between his. The hiss of the mask’s pressure releases but he’s not looking at her. He’s watching Poe’s face. Tracking the minute changes in his expression as confusion contorts them further and further. A deeper crease in his brow. A twitch in his cheek accompanied by a sneer like lift of his lip. The microscopic shift in the arch of his brow. The way his lips have parted to leave his mouth hanging open.  
  
There’s a metallic thud beside him, the clinking of the helmet settling heavily in a seat. The organic sounds of her breathing.  
  
“Poe,” Ben tugs her closer, “this is Rey.”  
  
He wraps his arm around her waist, turning his head to place a kiss on her temple.  
  
Ben wishes the shuttle had on-board cameras. Wishes he could capture the expression on Poe’s smug face as everything clicks into place. The way his eyes bug out of his skull, the way his jaw drops like it’s fallen out of its hinges. The way it flaps like it’s trying to speak but nothing comes out short of a pathetic squeak.  
  
This is the moment he’s chased his entire childhood and adolescence. The moment he got to do something so fantastical that it rendered his friend speechless.  
  
 _Fucking score!  
  
_ “I was looking for _her,_ ” he glances at Rey and can’t help the goofy dreamy smile from spreading across his face. Can’t help the way his features relax in her vicinity. “Poe? Meet my soulmate. This is Rey.”  
  
Poe’s hand waves behind him, frantic back and forth movements until he finds the wall. He leans back against it slumping. Eyes never leaving Ben’s with the exception of quick glances at Rey, at Ben’s arm wrapped around her waist.  
  
“The _fuck_?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to include the confrontation with Jacen. After some really helpful feedback, I agree with you guys. He shouldn't get away with a little sliver of a paragraph (not that that's what it was gonna be). It shouldn't even be a section. It should be an entire chapter dedicated to handing his ass to him because you guys were right. He came between them and could have ruined their lives if it weren't for the right series of circumstances. Therefore ... next chapter is gonna be it!
> 
> Thank you, by the way. To everyone who's given feedback and kept up with my crazy story. Sometimes it's hard to get out of your own head or look at the characters the way others see them. It's been incredibly helpful so you have my eternal gratitude <3


	20. Forgiveness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Hello,” Jacen grits out, clipped and tight._
> 
> _“What. The. Fuck,” Ben starts, voice low and rumbling, nostrils flaring as he fights to keep his breathing even. His arm wraps posessively around Rey. It’s ridiculous, he knows it. Nothing will ever come between them again, and yet he can’t help it. Perhaps it’s the self-soothing act to accompany anger. When you’re tired you gently rub your feet together. When you’re sad you soothe your hands up and down your arms. When you’re angry you cling to your only source of sanity like a liferaft. His heart rate picks up, eyes glaring into Jacen, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t reduce you to a pile of skin and bones.”_
> 
> _It’s a statement. Not a question._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!

_Yes, soulmates are real, they’re not just some concept from romantic holos. No, you can’t just make them happen. How should I know? I’m not an expert, but I can give you further reading? Of course reading gives you a headache, how could I forget that fact when you seem to love reminding me at every turn? *Sigh* they’re rare and poorly understood. No, we can’t read each other’s minds. Yes, there’s a mark just like in the holos. No, you can’t see it right now, maybe later. Don’t fucking touch her, Poe. No, I don’t care if you want to hug her. Will you fucking *swat* stop and keep your hands to yourself? You know she can break bones wearing that suit, right?  
  
_ _Yes, you can tell my mother we’re coming back. No, you won’t give her any details about Rey, just that we’ve wrapped up and are coming back. No, you can’t tell Ma I found her either. No, you’re_ definitely _not giving Leia her name. Why? *sigh* Because that’s our story to share, not yours. How would you have felt if I went and tattled to your parents about you and Kay before you were official? What’ll happen if you do? Do you really want to find out? No? That’s what we thought. Yes, we’re leaving soon, just have to have a conversation with the Skywalkers first.  
  
_ _Yes, Poe, she’s from here. Grew up 2 miles out from where we are now. Yes, that’s where we went yesterday. Yes, I met her when Ma sent me down here 8 years ago. I don’t fucking know, we were just drawn to one another. Yes, kind of like magnets. Don’t you think that’s too personal a question to ask? No, babe, don’t answer that. What we do behind closed doors is our business and ours_ only _. For fucks sake, Poe, get your mind out of the gutter! That question’s even worse than the last one! No, I won’t dignify that with an answer. Yes, any question of that nature is an automatic no, did you want to keep trying? No, we’re not naming_ any _of our children after you. Yes, *groan* we can talk about honorary uncle status. I don’t fucking know if Kay will love her, do I look like I predict futures?  
  
_ _Yes, this is what the Naboo trips are about. No sweetheart, I’ll explain it all to you later. That’s the surprise actually. Poe, will you shut the fuck *glare* up already? I said drop it. Yes, there’s another crate that needs to be delivered but we’ll take it, will you drop it now? Maybe. We’ll talk about it and let you know if we need a pilot. Don’t make that face.  
  
_ _Yes you can definitely start prepping the shuttle for take-off. Sure, any arrival gate will do. No, we don’t need an escort. You’re talking in circles, Poe, *eye roll* I already told you you could tell my mother we’re returning. We’re gonna go talk to Owen now. Yes, you can ask more questions later. Remember, if you tell Leia anything I’ll make sure one of those missile’s on Rey’s arm detonates in your colon. Don’t test me *Solo finger wag*.  
  
_ “Is he always like this?” she asks, slotting the helmet over her head after Poe’s disappeared into the cockpit. He went in there begrudgingly and a little worse for wear, maybe even a little misty eyed.   
  
It was the promise of answering more questions later that got him to finally move. Unglue himself from the wall he’d found himself plastered against and start prepping for their arrival at H.O.M.E. Ben doesn’t really want to answer more questions. Doesn’t want to peel back the layers to himself and Rey. Mostly because they have to do that for themselves before allowing others a peek in. They’ve missed 8 years together, afterall.   
  
Did they go through the broad strokes at her old house? Yes. Is that everything there is to know about that passage of time? Fuck no.  
  
Ben’s happy to have her again. Happy to know their future belongs to _them_ again. Together. As one unit. That’s how they’ll move forward. But it would be remiss to expect them to act like nothing happened. There will be occasions when a wound is fleshed open, when a memory of pain will awaken, when disbelief clouds some mundane activity in their future, seeping in like a noxious poison. There will be situations they’ve both buried that will emerge at random and will need to be dealt with. Crying on shoulders and nightmares to be held through. Discovering crevasses buried deep within that’ll need to be filled. Bridged. Mended.  
  
They may not have survived a war. They may not have experienced the absolute drain of battle. But they have _suffered_ being apart. Together they’ll heal the trauma, but it would be irresponsible to not prepare for the eventuality of small hiccups. Irresponsible to believe their trauma will stay firmly planted in the past and never resurface. Memories are funny like that. That’s what Luke taught him. They get tucked away into some neuronal cluster once your brain has deemed them important enough, but only get dredged up when called upon. And that recall mechanism can be _anything_. It’s hard to predict when memories come out of hibernation. Hard to tell when a good one or bad one will strike.  
  
“Yeah, rapid fire questions is his thing. His mother says he’s never grown out of the ‘but why’ phase,” Ben chuckles shaking his head, “it’s all fun and games until Poe asks ‘why’.”  
  
Her laughter turns metallic as the helmet clicks into place. “I really shouldn’t even bother putting this thing back on, huh?” she asks and he _thinks_ he can pick up a playful tone in her voice. It’s hard to tell with the distortion.  
  
“Nah,” he reaches for her hand and turns his head to smile, “if Poe’s reaction was anything to go by, the big reveal will be glorious.”  
  
She stands there a minute, silent and still. He knows she’s communicating with the others because he can see Psi Delta’s head turn towards the shuttle ramp. Can see him nod. Can feel her attention isn’t with him.  
  
After a few moments she turns her head to him, helmet cold and unreadable but there’s something in her body language that sets him at ease. An easy nod, the distorted monotone voice saying she’s ready. Maybe it’s just the way she gives him a reassuring squeeze where their hands clasp before separating.  
  
Together they descend and walk towards the main Skywalker house, ready to set the record straight.

  
  


…

  
  


“Hey Ben! You’re back! How was it? Your pilot said you found what you were looking for?” Owen’s voice booms through the space as soon as the door shuts behind them.  
  
Beru and Tenel are preparing breakfast. Slicing up cornbread, stirring a hot pot of creamed wheat and laying out a selection of spreads. Owen is pressing a fresh pot of caf while Jacen is sitting in the living room flipping through a farming equipment catalogue.  
  
Knowing what he knows now, the minute Ben sees _him_ , his blood begins to boil. It annoys him to no end that the fucker can sit there so calmly. Ankle crossed over his knee like he’s a God damned king, lazing back and flipping pages disinterestedly while everyone (including his heavily pregnant _wife_ ) is busy preparing breakfast. If that were Ben, he’d have Rey sitting with her feet up while he took care of preparing food. Maybe he’d give her a foot rub to ease her swollen ankles while the porridge was cooling. He grits his teeth and hangs onto a single thought, repeating it like a mantra.  
  
 _Soon. He’ll get his soon.  
  
_ Rey stations herself by the door. Planting her feet shoulder width apart and crossing her arms behind her back as though she were preparing to stand guard. As though their reason for being here wasn’t to absolutely wreck the fucker lounging on the sofa without a care in the world. He wants to grab her hand. Wants to bring her closer, to feel the reassuring aura of her presence envelope him, but he knows it’s not yet time.  
  
To add insult to injury, the freshly baked cornbread wafts over him and makes his mouth water. He’s not a food snob. He’s _not_. But after a full day of eating gritty paste there’s something about the aroma of fresh baked goods that awakens something in him. Namely his stomach. Which rumbles quietly in a whimpering plea.  
  
“Care to join us for breakfast?” Tenel asks. She’s working on scooping the creamed wheat into individual bowls and letting them cool on the counter. Having set one down, she cast her questioning eyes up at him while reaching for another. To set for him, presumably.  
  
“Uh...” he starts, not sure in which direction to steer the conversation. He’d like to. He bets Rey would too. She’s never been one to turn down food. But then, they’re about to make things really uncomfortable for this family so he’s not sure what the right course of action is. _Yeah sure, by the way Jacen lied about giving Rey the comm then lied to all our faces when asked about it yesterday. Could you please pass me the jam?  
  
_ “No, we’re actually leaving. Thanks though, Ten.” Decision made, he casts a quiet apology to his stomach and promises a full meal when they get back up to the station. Maybe one of those Mexican inspired meals with the synth-fish tacos, mountains of guacamole and churros for dessert. Maybe he’ll comm Dex to prep it while they’re heading up so it’ll be ready on arrival. He thinks maybe Rey would love guac. Shit he should have bought avocado seeds for Naboo.  
  
Turning to Owen he nods, “and yes. Yes, I did find what I was looking for.”  
  
From the corner of his eye he can see Jacen’s mouth open a sliver before it closes again. Can see his head turn the slightest bit with piqued interest.  
  
“Well did she leave some kind of clue? Are you going to Coruscant next? Last we heard that’s where she was so that might be a step in the right direction. We can send word to your father. I’m sure he’d love to see you.” Beru chatters happily. She’s fussing over the table setting, arranging the little jam jars _just so_ , to make sure they’re within reach of everyone, smiling all the while.   
  
_Oh auntie, if only you know what we’re about to do.  
  
_ “No. No I’m not.”  
  
“So then what’s next?” Beru stills, turning towards him and wiping her hands on her apron. The smile on her face turns softer, motherly. If he didn’t know any better, she’s about a hair’s width away from coming over and squishing his cheeks like she did the first time they met.  
  
“I, uh, I ...” he stammers, “I actually found her.”  
  
He’d barely said it loud enough for himself to hear. It would barely be considered audible speech and his mother would have _definitely_ given him shit if she’d witnessed it. Politicians speak clearly, she’d tut. They don’t stutter, they don’t umm and aah. Fillers show weakness. We stand and state our business with conviction. Convince our audience that our way is the right way, the right choice. That we have the most sensible solutions and have a plan in place to make them happen.  
  
Except everyone _had_ heard. In the blink of an eye, the room’s gone from loud with the tinkling of dishes, the clang of cutlery and the scrapes of jars being shifted around a table to complete silence. Owen’s stopped working on the caf, Tenel’s straightened out with a bowl in hand staring at him. Beru’s eyes have snapped to his and Jacen’s stiffened on the sofa.  
  
“You what?” Owen asks incredulously.  
  
“I found her.” It’s louder. Holds more conviction.  
  
From the corner of his eye he can see Jacen shrink. Shoulders hunching forward as if trying to disappear. The coward doesn’t even have the decency to look abashed. To turn his face and at least meet his eye in shame.  
  
Behind him he can hear Rey’s suit whirring. It sounds like a high speed fan is going haywire in the next room. When he turns back, he can see her helmet’s visor isn’t facing him. It’s focused just over his shoulder, pointed at Jacen. Her spine locked straight, shoulders back and tense, her body practically vibrating.   
  
“What … how? She left years ago,” Owen reaches behind to scratch the back of his neck. Face contorted in confusion.  
  
Swallowing to tamp down his rising anxiety, he gives Rey a small nod and she steps forward. His eyes snap back to Jacen, boring holes into the back of Jacen's head as he feels her body draw close. Feels her settle next to him. Hears the helmet’s release click.  
  
He’s not looking at the others. He’s zoned into the one who almost cost them their future. If it weren’t for Luke and sheer luck, he could have lost her forever. He could have come down here and found _nothing_. She could be off on a distant planet completing some useless mission where he’d never find her again. No, if it weren’t for small mercies and good fortune, they could be forever worlds apart. He can see Jacen’s throat bob, yet his gaze remains absolutely focused on the catalogue. He’s not flipping pages anymore. Frozen in his seat while listening to the sounds of his impending doom.  
  
 _Good_.  
  
Ben hears the helmet hiss as it disengages. Hears the shuffle as it slides off, then the natural lull of her breath, the soft whoosh of her hair falling against her graphene plates. He reaches beside him to take her hand but his eyes never shift off Jacen.   
  
Jacen whose body looks drawn tight like a wound up coil ready to release. Like a feral animal that’s found itself cornered and is ready to pounce. The question is, who’s feral here? The asshole who tried to separate them? Or the separated couple out for vengeance?  
  
There’s a uniform series of gasps. Cries of joy and bursts of laughter. Beru and Owen’s footsteps drawing closer. He feels the loss of her hand from his. He hears hugging and crying. Still, his eyes never leave the back of Jacen’s head. Vision blurring and tears swimming as he forbids his body from blinking. Like his gaze is keeping Jacen prisoner and any movement will set him free.  
  
Rey coos and giggles, tells them she’s missed them. Tells them the academy was kind to her. Thanks them for keeping her family’s old property so well maintained. Thanks them for always being there for her, even at her lowest points. Jacen never moves but his body goes rigid the moment Rey’s voice fills the room. Ben can see a slight tilt of Jacen’s head, an attempt at turning to confirm he’s been caught before it stops and fixates on the catalogue again. Shrinking to cower into the sofa until only the back of his head is visible.  
  
Rey laughs softly beside him when a confused Tenel asks about her identity. He can feel her smile as Owen and Beru explain ‘this is Rey’ to their daughter-in-law. She tells Tenel it’s nice to formally meet her. To be careful of the precious cargo she’s carrying when they hug. He hears Tenel’s melodic laugh, her youthful squeal as the surprise settles. And still, Ben hasn’t shifted his eyes nor blinked. Neither has Jacen whose quiet demeanour remains steadfast. Whose sole objective is to become one with the sofa and avoid the situation at all cost. Fire starts to crawl through Ben’s veins as rage begins to bubble inside his chest.  
  
 _Even when the gig’s up the fuck digs in his heels.  
  
_ “So you’re Ben’s soulmate?” Tenel squeals with pleasure, “wow you’re brave becoming an imperial agent like that. I can’t believe the good fortune. Ben! Congratulations!”  
  
And when Tenel’s hand gently lays on his forearm, he finally breaks his eyes away from Jacen. His eyes first land on where her small hand lays atop his forearm before he lets his gaze travel up to see her awed expression. Lets himself get carried away by the excitement in her eyes which is nothing short of infectious.   
  
“You okay Ben?” she asks, worry creeping into her voice.   
  
“Yeah,” he offers hoarsely, trying to soften his hardened features. Willing the anger to ebb and replacing it with a gentle smile. It’s not _her_ fault her husband is a dick. She has nothing to do with this. An innocent party in a jealous plot that’s unravelled. “Yeah, Ten. I’m just really happy to have her back.”  
  
Tears spring into her eyes and she throws her arms around his neck. “I’m so happy for you, Ben,” she says loudly, then quietly, just for him she all but whispers, “Owen told us your story last night. It was so awful to imagine losing the one you love and never knowing if you’d find them again.”  
  
When they separate, when he gently untangles himself without hurting her, he chances a glance up at Rey whose eyes have grown cold. Whose eyes are now locked on the back of Jacen’s head. Jacen who’s remained frozen the entire time but whose body is curling in on itself. Cowering. He can’t quite see it, what with his body being swallowed by the sofa, but he can feel it.  
  
“It was torture not knowing where she was. But we’re okay now. We’ve found each other and I’m never letting her go again,” he tells Tenel before turning to Rey, “you alright, sweetheart?” He reaches for her hand around Jacen’s wife. Seeking out her comfort, and in return, to provide comfort.  
  
And just as the room had started buzzing with positive energy, the air is sucked out of it all at once. All present parties noticing Ben and Rey’s hyper focused glare at Jacen.  
  
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she murmurs, tilting her face to Ben but keeping her eyes rooted on the offending head. Fingers interlacing in search of their bond.   
  
“So, Rey?” Tenel starts, eyes wide and index finger bopping her lower lip, “do you … uh … do you also have a mark? Like Ben’s?”  
  
“I do,” she answers gently, then her brows furrow and she turns to Tenel, “hey, would you mind running out to the guest house and making sure Ben didn’t leave anything? I could ask one of the guys out there, but,” she gives her a warm smile and a little wink, “I think it needs a woman’s eye.”  
  
The way she says it, the softness in her voice, the gentle smile she gives her fills his chest with pride. Because he knows that she too doesn’t want to hurt an innocent bystander. Their fury is concentrated on only one person, Tenel’s husband.   
  
“Of course,” Tenel beams, reaching to wrap her arms around Rey. Another hug. Another opportunity for Ben to marvel at Rey’s statuesque body in contrast to another woman. How regal and strong she is. How much her presence draws his attention whether she’s wearing nothing or a small fortune’s worth of credits in tech. “And, umm, welcome to the family, Rey.”  
  
The poor thing waddles out of the front door, leaving them blessedly alone. Ben can see Jacen’s face blanch in profile. Devoid of his security blanket, he’s got nowhere to run now. Grasping Rey’s hand they take a quick look at each other before facing forward again.   
  
“Jace? Did you not hear? Rey’s back!” Beru calls cheerfully before turning to Rey, “I must say this is a lovely surprise. I know you have to get going but perhaps you could stay for a cup of caf or -”  
  
“Ha.”  
  
A pained laugh cuts through the quiet air in the house. It’s hollow and devoid of mirth. A little sarcastic and a lot controlled. The voice it belongs to sounds foreign until Ben feels Rey’s hand shake. That’s when he realizes it’s her.  
  
“Yeah, Jace. Didn’t you hear? I’m back,” she adds ominously. It’s dark and angry. It carries the charge of impending thunder just beneath the surface.  
  
Ben looks at her then. His precious, strong soulmate who’s been his beacon of light in the worst of circumstances. She’s weathered storms, funnel clouds, poverty, and the extreme heats of Earth. She’s weathered being separated from her soulmate for almost a decade. She’s survived the academy’s strict training program. Survived the daily sparring sessions he knows are standard protocol. The broken bones and fatal injuries that happen in those rings. He’s heard the stories from his dad, knows they’re not child’s play. She’s the strongest person he knows. But right now her strength is failing. She’s crumbling beside him.  
  
“Rey, honey, what’s going on?” Owen steps forward, “Jacen did you not hear? Rey’s here. So’s Ben. Don’t be rude to our guests.”  
  
Ben wraps his arm around her waist, pulls her closer and presses a kiss against her temple. Feels her body quivering under his fingers. Feels the power surging through her suit and he hopes upon hope that she won’t make it quick on Jacen. Because the way her body feels beneath his fingers, she’d snap him in two before he got a chance to blink. And he’d _really_ like to enjoy watching the carnage.  
  
Jacen exhales loudly. Like turning his head and acknowledging his deception is nothing but a boring chore. Ben would like to go over there and clock him. Just deck him once for good measure to remind him that karma always comes full circle. That sometimes it’s good to own up to your choices. To remind him that people got _hurt_ in his pathetic ploy to secure a win.   
  
The fantasy is so consuming he barely registers Jacen’s head turn, his eyes rove over them quickly before settling back on the catalogue to offer a quick “Oh, hey Rey. Hey Ben. Welcome back.”  
  
If there was tightness in his voice, if there was a bit of a squeak at the end he barely notices. What he’s wholly focused on is staying by Rey’s side and decidedly _not_ going to punch the shit out of this brat. Briefly, he wonders what his mother would say. What that would do to her relationship with her uncle Owen. If she’d take Ben’s side or berate him for acting like a boor.   
  
_A righteous boor._ He reminds himself.  
  
“What?” she screeches, lips pulled back baring her teeth, “that’s it? No **_fucking_** way.”  
  
“Rey? What’s going on?” Owen repeats, confusion painting his features, “Jacen, you’re being rude. You haven’t seen Rey in years, why don’t you come say a proper hello before they leave?”  
  
Jacen flails his arms like he’s had enough. Throwing his head back against the sofa before taking a deep inhale and expelling it harshly. His hand comes down to palm roughly across his face before balling into a fist. Ben can hear the softened blow as he punches the seat beside him. Can hear the groan he heaves as he unfurls himself and stands up slowly.  
  
It occurs to him, then, that not only does Jacen lack the least bit of remorse, but that this confrontation is apparently an affront to the man’s very nature.   
  
Ben’s no stranger to privilege. Having grown up the son of a sweetheart politician and a celebrated general, he’s gotten his share of undue praise. He’s had all manners of people slip him an extra dessert or grant him access to restricted areas. Been given preferential treatment at school. He’s gotten Poe out of trouble that would have been considered downright criminal with nothing but ruffled hair and a pat on the shoulder. Fuck, his uncle was able to get access to sealed files for him and no one batted an eyelash. He’s been allowed to skirt responsibility for 8 years while he pretended to be an upstanding citizen, the whole time pining _very_ publicly for his lost love. Privileged is (he’s loathed to admit) his middle name.  
  
Jacen puts _that_ privilege to shame. Makes Ben look like a fucking saint. At the very least, Ben was always thankful, polite and competent. When caught he’d take his due punishment silently. Even when he skirted responsibilities, he at least provided those who depended on his input the minimum feedback to complete their project. He even dressed like (as Rey put it) ‘an angry dark lord’ only to _avoid_ people, never intending to hurt them. Jacen, does none of that.  
  
He does _not_ provide the bare minimum. He does _not_ own up to his mistakes. He does _not_ have the decency to face the music. He doubles down and frets like an unruly child. Just like Rey had described him years ago. Just like the boy who’d throw furtive glances at him and who’d break his gaming console when he lost.  
  
When he finally turns to face them, Jacen’s visage is sickly. Colour drained from his face and fists clenched by his side. His lips are a tight line and eyes twitching, rimmed red with fury. His gaze flickers to Rey before it settles on Ben. Rage recognizing rage.  
  
 _So it was me he hated all along.  
  
_ “Hello,” Jacen grits out, clipped and tight.  
  
“What. The. _Fuck_ ,” Ben starts, voice low and rumbling, nostrils flaring as he fights to keep his breathing even. His arm wraps posessively around Rey. It’s ridiculous, he knows it. Nothing will ever come between them again, and yet he can’t help it. Perhaps it’s the self-soothing act to accompany anger. When you’re tired you gently rub your feet together. When you’re sad you soothe your hands up and down your arms. When you’re angry you cling to your only source of sanity like a liferaft. His heart rate picks up, eyes glaring into Jacen, “Give me _one_ good reason why I _shouldn’t_ reduce you to a pile of skin and bones.”  
  
It’s a statement. Not a question.  
  
Jacen’s eyes drift over to his parents before they fall to the floor. Face going through a series of odd facial contortions before it rises again. This time, his face is different. He blinks innocently, eyes wide with surprise and mouth agape. The fucker’s acting surprised, like he doesn’t _very well_ _know_ what the problem is.  
  
The floorboards to his left creak and he chances a look to see Owen and Beru staring in disbelief. Sees Rey’s eyes are red and misty, mouth quivering.  
  
She laughs dryly. It’s sad and full of hurt. It sounds like a crystal shattering into a million pieces. What _should_ sound light and airy, doesn’t. It sounds like a heart breaking.  
  
“Why don’t we fill everyone in Jace? Hmm?” The pain in her voice is unbearable. All the hurt, all the longing, all the need they’ve had for each other all those years weighing down her tone. He’s right there with her, heart shattering with every uttered syllable.  
  
The man in question sputters. There’s the silent musings of an unintelligible monologue. An inner dialogue with himself. Words like _didn’t know_ and _unfair_ filtering through to their side of the room.   
  
If before there was a great gulf dividing Ben from clocking this dick, now there’s merely steps. He’s so primed. So ready.  
  
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” he shrugs, “I’m genuinely happy you’re back.” His hand motions haphazardly between them. A pointed finger drawing a string of lines between Ben and Rey. A forced smile twitching at the corners of his mouth before disappearing.  
  
 _I’m gonna fucking kill him.  
  
_ “Oh, I think you do,” Ben spits back. Her hand comes up to press against his chest, wordlessly asking for the stage.  
  
 _Anything for you, sweetheart.  
  
_ “I’m sure you are … but you _do_ know what I mean, don’t you? You see, Jace, Ben here left a little something for me. Didn’t he? A … comm was it?” She starts again. Apparently her course is set and she’s already underway. All Ben can do is hang on and hope for the best. Stand tall at her side and be her pillar of support as she powers through.  
  
Jacen nods in response to her question, pulling his lip between his teeth in a gnawing motion. He shoves his fists into his pockets and looks down to the ground. It’s the first time Ben sees a sliver of shame.  
  
 _Good. Go on baby, you can do this.  
  
_ “Exactly,” she continues, voice dripping with venom, “But you thought I didn’t need it so you never quite offered it to me, did you?”  
  
“I-” Jacen’s eyes shoot up, renewed determination glinting in their depths, “I did, Rey. You were really upset and didn’t want it.”  
  
His tone makes Ben’s arm clutch her tighter. The way Jacen delivers his words, soft and gentle, like he’s trying to convince her of the lie, makes Ben’s hairs stand on end. Frankly, he’s only got 2 choices right now: wrap his hand around Rey and squeeze, or wrap it around this fucker’s throat and squeeze. He will, from now on, always choose the former.  
  
“Oooooh no you don’t,” she clicks her tongue, wagging a finger and letting fire seep into a strangled laugh, “you kept it to yourself, didn’t you? _Then_ you had the audacity to lie to everyone about me not wanting it. Well I’m setting the record straight. I did want it. I _did_ want to talk to him. And you know what else? I _did_ ask if Ben left anything, didn’t I?”  
  
Jacen shrugs. “Don’t remember.”  
  
“Dude,” Ben steps forward, “just drop the act already. Rey and I compared notes. The gig’s up.”  
  
At this point Beru gasps. It’s a stilted sound. The only intake of information in a room filled with an abundant outflow of negative emotions and accusations.  
  
Jacen’s body starts rocking. His knee is popping, swaying back and forth to jerk his whole scrawny frame. He’s nodding. Or maybe it’s just his head joining the motion? He’s doing this weird shaky nod … thing. Mouth pressed tightly into a frown and eyes squinted half shut. Fire still blazing. He’s on the verge of dropping the act. On the verge of letting words fly.  
  
 _Good. Do it. Let go.  
  
_ “Fine,” he grumbles quietly, nostrils flaring as he fixes Rey with his eyes, “yes, you asked.”  
  
 _Thank you! Finally some honesty.  
  
_ Ben notices motion from the corner of his eye. An arm shooting up to press against a chest in what he can only assume to be surprise. Outrage? Another gasp. A groan?  
  
“And what,” she accentuates between gritted teeth, “did you say?”  
  
He heaved a sigh then, long and slow. Like he’s the one releasing 8 years worth of anguish. Like he’s the one who almost lost everything because of a lie.  
  
“That he didn’t. No.”  
  
“Ooh no no no no _no_ ,” she releases another bitter laugh. It matches the incredulity Ben’s been struck dumb by. “It was far worse than that. According to you Ben’s words were, and I quote, ‘it was nice getting to know you’.”  
  
“Rey I’m sure you misunderstood-” Owen tries to mediate, but Rey continues on, plowing right over him.  
  
“Do you have _any_ idea?” she starts with a shriek. Her hyperdrive is engaged and she’s firing on all thrusters. He’s letting her have this one, offering only the support of his presence and encouragement when necessary. Which isn’t right now. So he remains silent.   
  
“Do you have any idea how much that broke me? Do you have _any_ idea how much hurt you’ve caused? To me? To _both_ of us? Do you have _any_ idea what it’s like to feel like half your soul is missing after you’ve found it?”  
  
He shrugs, biting his lip. The gnawing motion intensifying, like he’s thinking hard. Or holding something in.  
  
“No, you don’t get to pretend. Y-you don’t get to … to just stand there and pretend you have no idea. _You_ did this. _You_ lied. You could have permanently ruined our _lives_ Jacen.”  
  
“What do you mean, Rey?” Beru asks.  
  
Ben turns to his great-aunt and mumbles, “the comm I left with Jacen, he never offered it to Rey. He … he never gave it to her.”  
  
In the meantime, she must have struck a chord because within an instant his eyes snap to hers and fill with rage again. The minute he sees it, Ben’s only instinct is to pull her behind him a little. To place himself between them. To protect her from whatever lies he’s about to spew.  
  
A fleeting thought pulses through his conscience. This was a bad idea. Nothing good could come of this. They’ve found each other against all odds and instead of moving forward, forging ahead as one, they’re rehashing old wounds. They’re confronting their tormentor for what reason exactly? To tell him he’s lost? That’s gloating. To tell him he’s an ass? He already knows that (if his body language is any indication). To make him feel guilt? He only feels anger as is evidenced right now. This was a _terrible_ idea. They should be snuggled up on a bench in the Lambda heading to the station right now. _Not_ performing this farce of a confrontation.  
  
Somewhere in the span of his tempestuous inner musings, Rey’s wails, and Jacen’s sputtering he thinks he might hear a door creak, but it could just be a floorboard. There’s a lot of shifting even though no one’s moved. Even when no one’s speaking it’s too loud. Blood pounding furiously in his ears, his anxiety spiking.  
  
“Yeah?” Jacen straightens, red faced and shaking. Fury written plainly on his face. “Well I don’t see _him_ apologizing for coming in and taking what was supposed to be _mine_.” He’s pointing an accusatory finger at Ben.   
  
_What the fuck?  
  
_ Beru gasps, “Jacen, what-”  
  
“Oh don’t play stupid mom. Ever since we were kids you’ve walked around saying things like ‘Rey’s going to make such a good wife for you one day,’ and ‘be nice Jacen, she’s going to learn to love you’,” he mocks before he turns his rage to Ben, “and you … do you _know_ how marriages work around here? Hmm? Not like up _there_ ,” he waves his hand to the sky.  
  
“Down here you don’t just get to _choose_ who you marry. We don’t _have_ that kind of luxury. Most people leave for the cities or colonies. Out here you marry for procreation. For land and survival. For companionship. Marriage is a _transaction_. I spent my _life_ thinking I knew what my transaction was going to be. My _life_ believing it was going to be _her_. I started looking _forward_ to it. And then, then, _then_ ,” he points at Ben again, eyes so red he could be shooting plasma beams, “ _you_ came along and _stole_ that.”  
  
Now _he_ laughs bitterly as the penny drops. “Yeah. Bet you didn’t think you were ruining something perfectly good when you swooped in, did ya space boy? Maybe she was rough around the edges but I spent my entire life learning how to love her, and maybe I was terrible at it but … of course then you came in and my future went to shit, but let’s all blame Jacen!”  
  
He drops his gaze to the ground, “I _saw_ you guys, you know? It made me sick. Seeing her kiss you after knowing you for weeks. Yeah … I came by that shed more than once. I’ve seen you sucking faces. I’ve seen you guys fucking. It was _disgusting_. You weren’t even subtle. Honestly … I thought it was just a stupid summer fling. And I gave it to her. Let her have it. Because I knew in the end you’d hurt her and leave. She didn’t belong in your world. She belonged in _mine.  
  
_ “What was that comm gonna do anyway … huh? You’d talk to her here and there, conversations fewer and farther between as time went on. Eventually you’d move on to someone else up in your world, leaving her to hurt while you lived your life in luxury. I did what I did because I _cared_. Because I _loved_ her.”  
  
He scoffs defeated. Ben could almost hear the rest of his thoughts. _I didn’t know you were soulmates. I didn’t think that existed.  
  
_ Ben had a hunch Jacen had wanted Rey to himself. Thought he’d sensed it all those years ago when he’d huff and puff when they’d play games together and Rey would lean into himself instead of Jacen. What he hadn’t expected was … well … all _that_.  
  
There’s a small inhalation of air behind him. It’s tiny and frail. Like brittle glass vibrating and on the verge of shattering.   
  
At first Ben thinks it might be Rey. But then Jacen’s eyes shoot up and over his shoulder. They transform from anger to anguish. Widening in horror.  
  
“Oh no darling no. I didn’t…”  
  
And what _no one_ expected was for Tenel to have snuck back into the house to witness her husband’s impassioned speech.  
  
“Is that what I am to you? What _we_ are to you?”  
  
All eyes turn to the door. Bodies in the room swivelling on their heels to find Tenel standing by the door, tears in her eyes and a hand protectively resting on her swollen belly.  
  
“We’re just … procreation and companionship?” she looks at her belly, then back up at her husband, “a transaction … a second choice?”  
  
He knew it. The fleeting pulse has sunk its claws into his brain. This _was_ a bad idea. A monumentally, disastrously, astronomically _colossal_ mistake. They should have just left and maybe sent word via comm that they knew he’d tried to fuck them over.  
  
Jacen’s body zips past them, urgent and desperate. Fear rolling off his frame and filling the air with its stink as he passes. He kneels before his wife, hands placed tenderly on either side of her belly to bolster his cradle of life. “If I had known that you were out there for me, if I had known it was possible to be this happy with someone I would have never…”  
  
Something in Ben snaps. This is the man who cost them 8 years. The man responsible for countless hours of pain and anguish. Of days lost laying in bed listlessly. Yet as much as he wants revenge, he won’t perpetuate the cycle of anger and hate. He won’t succumb to the darkness again. Not now that he’s got her.  
  
He has an out of body experience, just then. Sees himself and Rey, angry and furious. Seeing the faces of his great-aunt and uncle contorted in horror. Seeing the anguish in this poor woman’s eyes. Her husband on his knees begging forgiveness, paying the price of his deception in tears. He feels the anger melt off himself like a retreating tide. Feels Rey’s own darkness recede.  
  
For a moment he feels like he’s floating above them all, witnessing the scene from the outside like a phantom spirit. A soothing presence wrapping itself around him all the while. And then he realizes that that presence is Rey. That the force of their bond has granted them this bird’s eye view. That the force of their bond has pulled them out of their bodies for a reality check before pouring them back into their mortal shells.  
  
It’s a transcendent experience. One that gives him more certainty than he thought he’d already had. Because in that split second he realizes that not only are they bound together in life, but beyond. Their souls aren’t of this world. They exist outside of time and space and this is just one iteration of their togetherness. One day, they’ll leave these shells and blend their spirits only to do it all again.  
  
“This wasn’t worth it,” he hears her grumble beside him.   
  
_I agree.  
  
_ And then … an idea.  
  
“Ten, I may not be an expert on love-” he starts with gentleness in his voice. All feelings of fear and anger, hate and misery completely dissipated. Rey turns to him, eyes gentle and wide and pooling with tears. Her mouth is soft, lips parted. She nods imperceptibly. “-but I do have a soulmate and I know what it looks like. I’ve seen you two together. I’ve seen how he looks at you. Yeah, he was a piece of shit to Rey and I … but he loves you. Of that I have no doubt. It’s clear as day.”  
  
Tenel’s tears roll down her cheeks, dangle off the finely sculpted jaw before falling into Jacen’s hair. His face pressed against her belly and his hands shaking.  
  
“Darling, I … I didn’t know what love was until you. Please. _Please_ believe me.” The earnestness in his voice almost breaks Ben’s heart. Because he _knows_ what that feels like. To feel the one you love most in this life slip through your fingers.  
  
“Did you really do that?” She sniffles, “did … did you r-really try to separate them?”  
  
He presses a kiss against her bump. Presses his forehead against it. “I did. I _did_ , God help me. I was foolish and young. I had no idea … _no fucking clue_ what true love was. No _clue_ you were out there waiting for me. I’m so sorry. So so _so_ sorry.”  
  
He doesn’t notice Rey’s hands move. Doesn’t notice that she’s peeled off her glove and is tugging at his. Entranced by the magnitude of emotion unravelling before his eyes.   
  
_Is this what we look like?  
  
_ He only realizes what she’s doing when their marks slot together and the bond thrums to life. It’s wholesome and pure. It’s sharp and endless. Like falling over the edge of an orgasm and never having it ebb. It’s always new and like a homecoming all at once. _Every time_.  
  
“Ben?” Beru’s voice cuts through his haze.   
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“W-what…”  
  
He’s turned to look at his great-aunt questioningly.  
  
“Your eyes,” her hand shoots to her mouth, “and Rey’s.”  
  
“What?” he blinks at her confused. Does she not notice her own son falling apart? He was a grade-A dick, yeah, but that’s your _son_ and his heart is breaking and so is his pregnant wife’s and..  
  
Beru steps in front of them, eyes glancing between Rey and Ben. Her expression melting from shock to … is this amusing?  
  
“No, nothing. I guess you didn’t know. You’re just … Your eyes are … golden?”  
  
He turns his head to Rey in confusion. There’s his soulmate with a peaceful expression on her face and a ghost of a smile. It’s hard not to be flooded with endorphins. Succumb to feelings of contentment when the bond is active. Yet he sees no traces of any gold. Just her. Just Rey.  
  
“I think it’s time for us to leave,” she offers gently. Her voice has taken on a soothing cadence. “Beru, Owen … thank you again for everything. Watch over my parents graves. And I’m sorry, so sorry for…”  
  
“It’s alright honey,” Owen steps behind her to lay a hand on her shoulder, “we had no idea. If we did we would have intervened.”  
  
“We should be the ones apologizing for letting this get so out of hand,” Beru adds.  
  
She meets Ben’s eyes again and a whisper brushes against his mind. He finds himself outside of his body again, taking slow measured steps with her hand in his towards Tenel and Jacen. Finds himself across from Rey, the wounded couple between them as their bodies draw closer in a semblance of a hug.  
  
“We forgive you, Jacen,” he hears her say.  
  
Tenel’s head drops onto her shoulder. Quiet sobs against the cold graphene shoulder plating as Rey pets her head and tells her it's alright. That Ben was right. That Jacen’s love is palpable. All the while Jacen nuzzles her belly and chants _I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know, I’m sorry_ against her dress.  
  
Ben places a hand on his shoulder. Forgiveness has always been a foreign concept to him. His mother was as stubborn as days in space are long. His father, the living embodiment of a grudge. Between them, he’s never _seen_ forgiveness. Only explosive arguments and days of quiet avoidance as tempers clashed until magically everything would return to normal again. He’s never seen either the _act_ of forgiveness, nor the reconciliation. What Rey is teaching him right now, what she is showing him, is _just_ that.   
  
And maybe it’s knowing that he’ll never be without her again. Maybe it’s knowing that whatever mistakes he makes or how many times he’ll stumble, she’ll be by his side. She’ll forgive him just as he’ll forgive her, because that’s what love is.   
  
He finds that, even though Jacen’s cost them 8 years of their lives, it’s surprisingly easy to forgive.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well ... how'd I do? Was this the great reckoning? Or did Jacen get away with only a slap on the wrist? LMK!
> 
> I struggled with this. With how it should go. For me a beat down wasn't enough. He had to hurt. He had to be wounded and it had to be one that would fester. Because the way he's wounded Ben & Rey, the way he's created pain that'll always linger, he'll have to live through it too. Will have to navigate through his side of the deceit.


	21. Let Me Tell You About Naboo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, guys, guys ... I _struggled_ with this.
> 
> It's partially me not wanting to let go. Partially me warring with where to end it all. I was of half a mind to end it where it was and just pump out an epilogue, but then I thought ... what about Luke and Leia? What about all the wicked sex they could have in space? 
> 
> So ... well, here it is.
> 
> The epilogue is mostly written. Just gotta jimmy some words around to make sure I end it off on an even number (because apparently that's my thing now). Should be up tomorrow.

Poe had made good on his promise. They arrived at H.O.M.E station’s YT-1300 gate with zero pomp and circumstance. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It’s where they left from, and pilots aren’t anything but sticklers for protocol. Landing at the same gate you took off from is just a given, intrinsic, it’s what you _do_. It would be utter sacrilege to deviate from procedure. Besides, unless there’s new recruits from his father’s academy, that gate usually sits empty. It was a logical choice.  
  
It was a fitting choice, as well. It’s the gate she’d arrived at. The gate he’d waited for her at. The gate that had witnessed his morose pining at its windows for hours on end, staring at the gold and blue swirled planet below. Mottled tufts of green still visible against its arid landscape from space. Feet firmly planted on its polished floors and eyes glued to the dying planet that contained his one and only. Silly as it may sound, he’d decided it was _their_ gate.  
  
All in, it had been a fairly uneventful trip. If you can consider being peppered with questions the entire way up while tethered to your soulmate’s oxygen system to share her anti-nausea meds uneventful.  
  
There was, however, something inherently right about it all. About taking a seat next to _her_. About keeping their gloves off and hands clasped to keep the bond open. Even about Poe chattering idly from the cockpit with the door wide open while the thrusters roared beneath their feet. The trip lacked the buttoned up clinicality of their departure. It was warmer, friendlier. Cozy, even.  
  
He’d tried looking out the porthole to take one last look at the landscape that had changed, nay - reshaped, his life as the Lambda took off. It was a noble thought. A lofty aspiration to leave the past behind with one last glance. He should have known. Because the moment he’d tried to look, his eyes fell on _her_ instead _._ And even wrapped up and hidden beneath the expanse of graphene, bundled among the layers of her suit, he was transfixed by her mere existence. The simple fact that she was _real,_ that she was _his,_ that he had truly _found_ her. So he’d spent the short trip happily zoned into Rey.  
  
Poe droned on and on about an engineer using the wrong coolant mix on an XT Class passenger transport and causing the craft to overheat just by hovering above ground on D’Qar. Reciting what happens when a shuttle overheats. The rattling and the jerking. About how it had scared the living daylights out of the handful of passengers onboard. Ben was pretty sure he’d been fibbing when he recounted how a passenger actually shat his pants. The other two agents stole curious glances at himself and Rey, but said nothing more.   
  
But he didn’t see any of it. He was fixated on his future and how she very calmly sat beside him applying even pressure around his fingers.  
  
So the sound of the docking mechanism came as a bit of a surprise. As did the hiss of the release latch and the shouting of the engineers in the bay. He mentally congratulated Poe on a docking so smooth the ship didn’t make a single peep. He’d never tell him that in person, of course. No, that would go straight to his head and a gloating Poe is a bad Poe. Ripe for mischief.  
  
Now that the future stretched endlessly before them, there were just 2 more things to take care of. Well 3.  
  
He needed to:

  1. Get her released from the imperial program
  2. Get her moved into his suite
  3. Marry her (8 years overdue, frankly)



There was also the impending move to Naboo that they’d need to talk about. But that was a topic to broach once they’d settled the first three important tasks.  
  
The third wasn’t exactly business of the utmost importance. More of a bucket list item. It was a given. It would _definitely_ happen. Sure, the circumstances around it were still to be decided, but there was no urgency. Then again, if they could get it done in the next day or so…  
  
“What now?” He heard her metallic voice before the hiss on his tether released him from her.  
  
“I…” well, what _did_ he want to do?   
  
“I…” _need to move your things into my quarters immediately. I know they’ve given you agent quarters and I’m sure they’re comfortable but now that I’ve found you, the idea of not sleeping beside you every night gives me anxiety. Don’t separate from me again, even if it’s just a few floors on the station, please?  
  
_ “Uh, I…” _we need to go see my mother before she loses her shit. She must know by now we’ve arrived and she’ll turn the station inside out until she finds and grills me. I’d rather she meet you on our accord than hers. By the way, how do you want to tell her? Are we going with a morsel of information? Or serving the entirety of the soulmate mark? Whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.  
  
_ “Umm…” _wanna go get married? It’s just some fingerprints and retina scans at the registry to make it legal. If you’re ready, we can even get your name changed. Rey Solo, sounds good doesn’t it? It’s two floors down and a 20 minute walk. Shouldn’t be too busy at this time but there might be a short wait. It’ll make me feel an awful lot better knowing we’re bound together by imperial law. Would you like that, sweetheart?  
  
_ “Uh…” _for fuck’s sake pick one already Ben!  
  
_ “We should go see your mother,” she finally offered, putting him out of his indecisive misery. How is it that this little person at his side reduces him to a blubbering, incoherent mess even when he _knows_ she’s his?  
  
“Yes,” he agreed standing up. He supposed it’s best she made that decision. Once they ironed out the details of her discharge he’d be free to focus on settling their lives. Fleshing out their living arrangements, their status, and procuring transportation to Naboo. It was a sensible choice.  
  
 _Our soulmate is wise.  
  
_ He can’t help agreeing with the gremlin that strikes him mute and makes him insatiable for her. The one that resides in his brain and likes to stir the pot. The little devil (or is it angel) on his shoulder.  
  
And that’s how he finds himself staring at a wall of imperial agents at the bottom of his mother’s turbolift trying to explain his business. If it had been just him, they’d have let him up no questions asked.   
  
But she’s still new. A fresh face and a clean slate. They don’t know what to make of her. Whatever their visors are flashing about her is enough to give them pause. Or whatever it’s _not_ telling them, considering her history is all of what? 48 hours old?  
  
There’s an eerie silence punctuated by the clanging of their armoured bodies as they communicate inside their helmets. Ben _wishes_ he’d have had the foresight to comm his mother and do away with all this red tape. But here he is. Having explained the situation in a handful of words and now waiting for the horde to make a verdict.  
  
He wonders if Rey is talking to them as well. She must be. Her head keeps tilting, a visible form of nonverbal communication to accompany the silent one he’s witnessing.  
  
It happens without a single spoken word. The sea of imperial agents just … parts. A corridor of gleaming graphene and blasters flush against their chests. An open pathway to the lift. As though they’d silently concluded their deliberations and deemed their passage admissable.  
  
Hand in hand, they step into the lift, luckily unaccompanied. Another blessing. Somehow though, the air is steeped in tension. From his end, fear of what his mother would think of her. Fear that they wouldn’t get along. Then again, they must have met to talk through the specs of his mission, his mother would have liked her enough to let her lead. As Poe would say, he’s getting pegged by anxiety without lube cause she’s a bitch like that. _Classy._   
  
From her end, he could sense apprehension. Maybe she worries about being accepted. About being good enough for him. _Preposterous,_ he thinks. She’s utterly perfect.  
  
Without a single spoken word between them, the doors swing open to reveal the hallway to his mother’s office once again lined with parted imperial agents. The door swung wide and his mother seated regally at her desk. Hands clasped in front of her tightly drawn mouth, intently listening to her guest. More specifically, a mop of sandy blonde hair, dappled grey, sitting across from her. A mop of unruly hair he’d recognize from anywhere.  
  
If he groans out loud, that’s no one’s business but his own.  
  
His mother’s eyes dart up and a flicker of recognition crosses them before they drop again. He assumes her gaze has drifted to their clasped hands but he can’t be sure from this distance. An educated guess based on the way the corners of her mouth tug into a smile she quickly schools away. The flicker doesn’t seem to go unnoticed by her companion though. Not when the man across from her happens to also be her twin and the proud co-owner of some telepathic channel between them.  
  
Luke’s head turns to glance back, the serious furrow of his brow lifting when his eyes meet Ben’s.  
  
“Heeey, Ben!” He greets cheerily standing up. His eyes, too, drift down to their hands before finding his eyes again. Except his uncle’s face doesn’t morph and fall back into a stony blank. His features soften, a bright smile blooming on his face and something like pride radiating off him. It seems to grow with every passing second.  
  
 _Of course_ he thinks he’s done this. _Of course_ he feels responsible for this arrival. Who is Ben to steal his thunder when he _was_ the architect of this happy reunion?  
  
Does it annoy him that his uncle is practically gloating? _Obviously._ Then again, if it wasn’t for him sticking his hand in the pot, he wouldn’t have found her so … he can have it. Ben’s willing to swallow his pride just this once.  
  
“Luke,” he greets with reservation.  
  
Together they step into his mother’s office, the doors whirring shut behind them to offer privacy from prying eyes. For the first time in his life, he wonders if the doors block out the sounds or if those helmets’ auditory receptors can detect noise through them. Nothing but the sweet scent of roses and the ticking of that god awful chrono piece hidden somewhere in her bookshelves fills the air. He’s nervous, but ...  
  
 _Here goes nothing.  
  
_ “I see you’ve found what you were looking for?” his mother asks, a little twinkle in her eye and that smile warring with her stiff political facade. Her chin juts at their clasped hands as if to point out the obvious. Apparently he’d taken too long to form an introductory sentence so she’s taken the lead … as per usual.  
  
“I did … uh … Ma? Luke? This … this is, Rey,” he stammers like a fucking child, _dammit Ben get your shit together,_ “go ahead, sweetheart.”  
  
Rey’s lifting her hands, unclipping the release latch on her helmet and pulling it off. A reveal he’ll never get tired of. Every time he sees her face he’s mesmer-  
  
“Oh do away with the theatrics, Ben,” his mother tuts, waving her hand in the air and stifling a chuckle, “you’ve always been _such_ a drama queen.”  
  
He can hear Rey’s even breathing at his side but all he can do is blink dumbly.  
  
 _Beg pardon Ma?  
  
_ “I’m sorry, Rey. It seems my son has a flair for dramatics. Something he’s gotten from his father, unfortunately. You should probably know that right off the bat ... though I don’t take returns so you’re stuck with him now,” the facade drops and she’s laughing heartily, “and Ben? Rey and I have met. More precisely as Senator Organa-Solo and Pi Gamma. Right dear? Lovely girl, sharp too. More than I can say for you, Benny. Besides, Owen commed after you left. You made quite a mess down there. And Luke filled me in so … let’s drop the charade, shall we?”  
  
 _Did she just … blow the lid off the whole thing before I could string together a coherent sentence?  
  
_ His mouth flaps uselessly as his mother’s laughter continues to increase in volume. His uncle seems to be joining in, though at least he has the good sense to try and hide it. Choking a series of chuckles back and covering his mouth with a closed fist. What’s so funny? He’s _not_ dramatic. Does he catastrophize? Sure … maybe? But this is a very important moment in his life. It’s not funny. It’s _not-  
  
_ A little wheeze beside him catches his attention. Just as he begins to turn his head it’s joined by a snort. By the time he finally looks at her she’s doubled over laughing silently, tears in her eyes.  
  
“Did … did I miss something? What’s so funny?” he asks, stunned.  
  
“Your mother…” Rey gasps between fits of laughter, “I commed her downstairs to tell her we were coming. She has a point, Ben. You _definitely_ exaggerate.”  
  
“Do not!” the toddler-esque rebut flies out of him before he can think better of it.  
  
“Oh yes you do. Did you really think we wouldn’t talk after _that_ news from Owen? And what did you think we’d do? Throw her out after you’ve spent nearly a decade moping around here?” his uncle chimes in, chest stuttering, holding back peals of laughter, “your mother and I have decided we’re adopting Rey and disowning you. We called Han. He’s on board.”  
  
Is this actually happening? Possibly the single most important day in his life and everyone who means something to him is … laughing? Is he the butt of this joke? Because if so, that’s …  
  
His mother swings around her desk, “he’s joking, Benny. In case you didn’t pick up on it. Always _so_ serious.”  
  
She’s floating in her immaculate navy gown, arms folded in front like she always does in that statuesque way of hers. Heavy woolen overcoat giving peeks of layers of navy gossamer as the only visual confirmation she’s actually walking. Floating to Rey’s side where she bends down to envelope his soulmate in a hug.  
  
“Welcome to the family, sweetheart,” she murmurs, laughter turning into soft titters, “can … may I see?”  
  
“Of course,” Rey replies, her hand releasing his automatically to splay before his mother. She’s struggling to keep her composure. Body jolting and mouth pressed into a firm line to tamp down her laughter while his mother analyzes the little mark that binds them.  
  
Incredulity still keeps him mute, but he does manage to squeak out a confused, “you’re not mad?”  
  
“No honey,” his mother swats towards him, eyes glued on the mark where she’s squinting to take it all in, “amazing, this almost looks like a tattoo only more … organic. And Ben? What your second cousin did was inexcusable.” She directs the comment to him but her eyes remain glued to the mark she’s examining, “what you did was … deserved. It may not have been the politically correct course of action, but it was deserved. I can’t be mad at you. And, for the record, I’ve set things straight with Owen.”  
  
“Oh … ooo-kay.”  
  
He’d like to know more. Exactly what setting straight entails. Exactly what Owen’s said.   
  
“Well,” his mother lets Rey’s hand go, claps her hands together decisively and turns to him, “I’m glad we finally met the girl who had you in knots for the better part of a decade. Now … what can I do for you?”  
  
He’s reeling. The way his mother’s taken control of the conversation, the meeting, the … _everything,_ both confuses him and imbues a sliver of relief. Because she’s essentially saved him from blathering. From having to figure out just where to begin.  
  
“Uh … do?”  
  
She quirks a brow, “you’re my son, Benny. You could have sent a comm and set up an introductory dinner. In fact, that’s what I expected when I heard of your arrival. Instead you two came barrelling up here first thing off that shuttle. That tells me you need something.”  
  
He’s really that obvious, isn’t he?  
  
“Yeah,” he chokes under her scrutinizing stare, “yeah I … uh …”  
  
“Words, Benny. Use them. Everything is okay. You’ve got everything you’ve asked for, now give me back my son you inarticulate oaf.”  
  
Rey giggles. His uncle scoffs. And all of a sudden the pieces click into place. The awkwardness washing off him, 'like water off a duck’s back' as Mr. Niima used to say. He takes in the scene in the split second he affords himself. The comfortable way everyone stands around him. The open arms with which his mother welcomed Rey. The glimmer of hope in his uncle’s eyes. This is a family. This is _his_ family. And he wishes on every lucky star he’d been blessed with, the ones that brought him to _her,_ that his father were there with them to share this moment.  
  
“Right,” he starts, reaching for Rey’s hand to press their marks together, “I need Rey released from service.”  
  
“That’s more like it. Done, what else?”  
  
“Free up her quarters for another cadet. We’re going to move her into mine right after we leave.”  
  
“Done. Anything else?”  
  
“Do you think you could comm dad and see if he’d like to come up for a family dinner?”  
  
“Oh honey. Of course,” his mother wraps her arms around his middle. Funny thing - she’s small yet she has the ability to melt him into a puddle even if she barely reaches his chest. “Luke?” she calls without lifting her head off his chest, “organize the soonest time to get their implants removed, will you?”  
  
 _Excuse me?  
  
_ “Already done. It’s set for tomorrow morning at 0800.”  
  
“What?”  
  
His uncle speaks at the same time as Ben.  
  
“Oh shush, Benny,” she admonishes which draws another small giggle from Rey. His mother’s head rising off his chest to straighten out his tunic the way she used to when they were going to formal dinners as a child. “You’ve had that thing in for years and I want grandbabies. It’s time to get it out.”  
  
If he’s blushing every shade of crimson, nobody seems to notice. He can, though. Feeling heat creep up his neck and making the collar of his tunic exceptionally tight.  
  
Luke somehow materializes beside his twin. His prosthetic hand settling lightly on his shoulder. “I’ve also scheduled you a private room at the registry for 1200. Figured you’d wanna seal the deal, y’know?” he winks and nudges before turning to Rey.  
  
“I knew I’d seen that mark before,” he strokes his beard in a lighthearted manner, “I’m sorry for the secrecy, kid. I’m just glad you both found what you were looking for.”  
  
He scoops her up into a hug before letting himself out. Without turning back, he calls over his shoulder as he clears the doors, “don’t forget! MedBay at 0800, registry at 1200!”

  
  


…

  
  


“You know, now that I’m not intimidated by them, your family is actually quite nice.”  
  
She’s snuggled into his chest, drawing lazy circles against his bare skin while he idly plays with her hair. They’re both staring at the expanse of space out of his window. _Their_ window. The large quarters’ expansive window across from his bed which also happens to be a prized feature on the station. He, frankly, _still_ doesn’t know whose arm his mother twisted to get him these accommodations.  
  
“Mmhmm,” he hums into her hair, “I think they love you more than they love me.”  
  
She lifts off his chest, one hand braced against his sternum while the other props up her lithe frame. The loose tunic he’d leant her draping around her neck to give him a peek of her sculpted collarbones.   
  
“Don’t be a drama queen. They _love_ you. Did you see how they welcomed us with open arms?”  
  
They did. They really did. Before, he’d been in limbo. Teetering between dread that they’d think she wasn’t good enough, anger that they might proclaim she’s looking to score a hefty sum of credits, and excitement about finally having her by his side in the open. Now he thinks all of those emotions were unwarranted. _Of course_ they’d love her. What was there _not_ to love?  
  
He’d confirmed the appointments his uncle had made. Even found his mother had sent a hovercrate to her quarters to help them move. She’d commed him by the time they’d arrived at her nondescript door to confirm his father would be up by the following evening.   
  
If days seemed to blend together before, endless strings of wasted minutes and hours, now things were moving at breakneck speeds. Two days ago he couldn’t tell you what happened to him over the last 8 years. Today he sees the milestones of his future like stalks of corn at the Niima farm. Evenly spaced, within reach of each other. Each new landmark just a hop from the previous. He’d spent _years_ waiting. Now, if the pieces fall into place just right, they could be on their way to Naboo in 48 hours.  
  
Getting her moved out of the agent quarters hadn’t been much of an ordeal. She’d barely settled in and so together they made quick work of collecting her meager belongings in less than an hour.   
  
While she collected the few imperial garments she’d been given, he’d cleaned her desk and found her old sketchpad. Worn and yellowed paper that curled on its edges and threatened to come undone at the seams. He flipped through it to find sketches of him talking to her father, walking between rows of corn. Her father’s hand on his shoulder and the two laughing heartily at some joke or other. Another of him proudly holding a loaf of bread next to her mother. Steam rising over their faces and blending into his unruly mop of hair. Another of him standing on her porch with a beseeching look in his eyes, a daisy held out in offering.  
  
As he flipped the pages he opened one where that very same daisy was pressed between the pages. Fragile and paperlike, the dried flower had kept its colour. Antique white petals, a mustard yellow center, and muted green leaves perfectly preserved between the pages of their past. It was one of his first true tokens of affection. And she’d _kept_ it.  
  
He’d cried then. Blubbered like an inarticulate caveman and scooped her into his arms to kiss her senseless. Ben hadn’t tasted the salty tang of snot since he was in kindergarten (he’s loathed to admit he apparently _had_ a thing for putting things in his mouth). Oh he tasted it there in her tiny quarters. Snot and tears and all between slobbery kisses. Strings of saliva coating his chin and wetting his lips between breaths and snuffles. Ironically, that’s how they’d spent the majority of that hour. They put away her belongings in all of 15 minutes then kissed like touch starved virgins for the remainder of the time.  
  
After they’d gotten themselves together and pushed the crate back to his place, he held her hand while she marveled at the space before promptly showing her the drawers he’d always saved for her. It wasn’t much, but this was temporary anyways.  
  
With a kiss on the forehead he’d left her to put away her things while he quickly washed off in the fresher. Eager to scrub the last 12 hours off himself. To scrub the past off his skin. Then her turn came. So he deposited her in the fresher with a clean towel, a borrowed tunic he knew would be too big on her, and with a final kiss proceeded to lounge in bed while she showered.   
  
Ben doesn’t do things by halves. He knew that if he went in there _with_ her, if he’d asked her to join him, they would never have gotten clean. Innocent attempts at lathering each other up would have quickly turned heated. And he wouldn’t have had a chance to do something he really needed to do. He had to take care of her and this was just a small step in the right direction.  
  
Leaning against his headboard, he fishes for his HoloPad and navigates to Dex’s where he orders the synth-fish tacos with guac and churros. ETA 30 minutes. Then he navigates to the supply store. Adds a selection of leggings, tunics, a jacket (in case she should get cold on the station), some basic underthings, and a good pair of boots. ETA 0600. _Perfect._ Sure, he has plenty of clothes for her on Naboo, but he can’t have her walking around in an imperial uniform until then. He wants to make sure she’s comfortable. Food and clothes are basic necessities he _will_ provide in the interim.  
  
They ate comfortably on his sofa. Her face lighting up with each bite and he licking guac off her chin where it inevitably dribbled down. When she got around to the churros, she dripped a little chocolate sauce onto her collarbones so he licked that off too after filing away the awe written on her face after the first bite into his memory bank.   
  
Overcome with exhaustion from their whirlwind day, he carried her to bed to snuggle even though his clock shone 1700 at them. So he shucked off his lounge shirt and crawled into bed in his sleep pants, folding the blanket to snuggle her closer, preparing for sleep.  
  
“You’re right. They love me. But…” he kisses her head just because he _can,_ “they love you more. I’m telling you.”  
  
“Maybe if you stopped dressing like an angry dark lord they’d like you better?” she jests, reaching to link their fingers together and yawning.  
  
He can’t help but chuckle. Maybe she’s right. A change in wardrobe might reflect better on him. On _them._ Maybe tomorrow after the registry he’ll sit down with her and let her pick him a new wardrobe from the supply store. Hell they have all the time in the world, maybe they can go down there and actually try things on.   
  
“At this point, I’m not sure they’d recognize me in civilian clothes,” he stifles a yawn.  
  
He is absolutely _pooped._ In less than 12 hours they’ve confronted their past, set up their future and the pressure of tomorrow weighs him down in the best of ways. Tomorrow they’ll be bound by imperial standards. He’s pretty sure his mother will throw a hissy fit. Tantrum over needing a traditional affair with the dress and the altar and all that. Frankly he couldn’t care less. Tomorrow the pieces will finally slot into place.  
  
 _Which reminds me.  
  
_ “Sweetheart? May I…” he gestures to his dresser under the window, “wanna give you something.”  
  
“Mmh,” she huffs while shifting off his chest. Damp hair tickling his bare skin.  
  
He walks across the space to his dresser, sifting through his sock drawer to pull out a little emerald bag. Hopping back into bed, he scoops her back into his side and proceeds to pour its contents out into her cupped hand. Two rings. Real ones this time. Graphene, just like their o-rings but simpler. No design, just gleaming metal that circles on infinitely. The inside etched with ‘my one’ and the other ‘my only’ in calligraphy written by his own hand and skilfully replicated into the rings.  
  
“They’re beautiful,” she gasps reverently.   
  
Kissing her temple he reaches for his nightstand to shut the lights off. Sleep is, of course, the end goal. But right now, turning off the lights is meant to unravel the best part of his gift. In the darkness the rings glow brightly. A beautiful white blue that casts an angelic light over her face.  
  
“They’re graphene too but … these ones are infused with bioluminescent organic particles suspended in the metal. It’s so we … uh … so we can always find each other.”  
  
She turns her head, eyes aglow from the rings and kisses him deeply. “...love them. Love _you.”  
  
_ Depositing them back into the little pouch, she gingerly places them on her nightstand (because that’s what it is now, _hers_ ) before placing another kiss on his cheek and leaning on his shoulder.   
  
“For tomorrow at the registry,” she smiles, “where … how … wh-when did you get these?”  
  
He shifts them down so he’s laying on his back, head on the pillow and her head perched comfortably on his chest again. “Uh … my first week back here? I knew I needed to get you a real one and … I thought we’d talk soon so I just sort of … had them welded at the engineering bay.”  
  
It’s quiet for a few moments. So quiet, and her breathing so even, he thinks she’s fallen asleep.  
  
“Thank you,” she whispers, her hand smoothing across his opposite pectoral to hug him closer, “I … they’re perfect. _You’re_ perfect.”  
  
“Not as perfect as you.”  
  
Somehow, whispering proclamations of love, they both drift off to sleep in the late afternoon.

  
  


…

  
  


Something is missing. Instinctually his arm reaches to his side to find the bed warm but the body that should be there missing. His arm feels heavy and he’s too groggy to fully understand. He doesn’t open his eyes when he hears a toilet flush.  
  
 _Aah. She went to the bathroom_.  
  
Happy with the drowsy mystery solved, he lets himself drift back off sleep.  
  


There’s a dip on the bed. The shuffling of the blanket. A bit of a tug at his hips. Has it been minutes since he’d last dipped into consciousness? Or an hour?  
  
 _She’s returning to bed. Good.  
  
_ It’s a fleeting thought as he briefly hovers between wakefulness and sleep. He drifts back to sleep knowing she’ll nestle into his side.

There’s heat pooling low in his belly. The clenching of his abs in arousal. What draws him out of his hazy slumber this time is the low moan that escapes his throat. An unwitting noise released by his body that’s so contrary to the peace of sleep.  
  
Consciousness slowly takes root and he begins to take note of other sensations. The warm and bony flesh of an elbow by his hip. Slender fingers gliding up and down his …   
  
_Oh.  
  
_ Dreamily, he registers a warm wetness enveloping the tip of his dick. Delicious suction drawing him back into the waking world in the most sensual way. Like the pull of her mouth is his pull to the light. He can hardly believe this is what he’s waking up to.  
  
 _What time is it even?  
  
_ _Yeah, that’s the question you should be asking,_ the gremlin rebuts.  
  
He cracks an eye open only to have his abs flex again lustily. The sight that greets him almost sending him over the edge instantly.  
  
There’s his beautiful soulmate, one knee on the bed, tunic haphazardly scrunched up around her waist, her glorious ass on display within arm’s reach and his cock in her mouth humming contently. He watches her cheeks hollow, her lashes flutter against the tops of her cheeks. Watches her mouth slide down his length until he feels the back of her throat and she gags softly.  
  
Unconsciously, he lifts his hand to ghost over the back of her thigh and grab a handful of ass.   
  
“Morning, sweetheart,” he croaks, voice rough and tinged with sleep.  
  
The only response he gets is a vibrating hum and a hearty bob that makes his fingers grasp the flesh of her rump tighter. With his free hand, he reaches down to brush the hair out of her face. To run his thumb over the hollowed cheek and marvel at how well she takes him in her mouth. Settles it on the back of her neck to massage gently.  
  
He glances over to his nightstand to see the alarm clock reads 0500. They slept for 12 hours?  
  
 _Good. Still an hour until the delivery. Plenty of time to…  
  
_ “Bring that pussy here,” he gives her ass a light smack if only to get her attention, “come sit on my face, sweetheart.” And to drive his point home, he smooths his hand down the back of her legs to nudge her inner thigh, wordlessly guiding her to straddle his head while she keeps his dick in her mouth.  
  
And she does. She follows his instructions, swinging one knee over his head while shuffling her body parallel to his.   
  
There’s something about this view that makes his balls clench tight. That makes the world melt away leaving only _her_. Something about having her cunt a few inches above his face and the magnificent globes of her ass eclipse the ceiling. Like having a front row seat to the skillful dance of two binary stars. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s so wholeheartedly invested in sucking his soul clean through his dick. He’s not sure. But he knows he’s freshly woken and horny as hell and now … now he’s hungry.  
  
He wastes no time nudging her shins wider. Bringing her closer to his mouth until she settles her lips against his. Wastes no time looping his arms around her thighs and grabbing generous palmfuls of ass to knead while he slowly begins to lap at her core.  
  
It’s luxurious. Having his very favourite meal while he’s being coaxed to orgasm by the warmth of her mouth. An infinity loop of oral gratification. It’s really fucking perfect. Why they hadn’t done this before, he can’t fathom. Only that they should have done this a long _long_ time ago.   
  
He feels her moan more than he hears it. Feels it in the way it seeps into the velvety skin of his cock. The way it makes him twitch in her mouth with want. Vibrations ringing deep into his groin to elicit an animalistic moan and make him see stars behind his closed eyelids. Ready and willing to coat her throat, to paint her insides and mark her as his. Being pulled closer and closer to the edge by her ministrations.  
  
So in turn, he delves a little harder. Focusing his attention on her engorged nub while his nose practically sinks into her. Lapping and kneading in sync while he nuzzles his nose for extra sensation. His tongue swipes over her clit over and over, drawing shuddering spasms and enthusiastic moans from her. It’s intoxicating. It’s perfect. It’s…  
  
 _He’s gonna come.  
  
_ He sucks her clit hard before releasing. “Stop,” he pleads against her, “sweetheart, you need to stop.”  
  
His hips don’t want to let her go, as evidenced by the fact that they chase her mouth as she pulls off him.  
  
“Why?” she rocks back onto his mouth, earning her a hearty series of sucks and twirls of his tongue.  
  
“Because,” he murmurs, middle finger dipping into her heat and feeling her walls clench in response, “I want to come in here.”  
  
Her leg muscles flex, making to get off his face and ride him into oblivion (or so he assumes), but he’s got other plans. He holds her in place and unleashes another flurry of pointed licks that leave her gasping for air.  
  
“In a minute, baby,” he works a second finger into her tight heat, “first I want you to ride my face.”  
  
“Beeeen,” she mewls. It’s a whine that holds no heat. Because she immediately lowers herself and starts grinding against his mouth with abandon. Smothering him. Coating him in the slick juices of arousal she makes just for _him_.   
  
He feels her hand grab his cock and start stroking languidly. Releasing a huff of a laugh between his desperate laps. _Greedy girl_. But he’ll let her have this. Let her stroke him and keep him on a knife’s edge while he gets her off. While she uses his mouth to reach nirvana.  
  
And God is she close. He can feel it by how her rocking has become uncoordinated. How her grip around him has gotten tighter. How her body’s begun shaking.  
  
When her body falls, when it drapes itself harshly across his own and her thighs spasm he’s gifted a glorious front row view of her pussy leaking copious amounts of arousal that cling to, and drip onto, his chin and neck. Drenching him in the best of ways. A view of her lips clenching and unclenching at unfathomable speeds trying to milk his fingers. A view of her thighs quivering while the choked gasps of her silent screams fill the air. Heavy puffs fan across the heated skin of his cock. Her hair tickling his sensitive head while her lips ghost over his twitching shaft.  
  
He squeezes his eyes shut. Focusing on lapping languidly against her plump lips and prolonging her orgasm. Willing himself not to come just from her breath grazing his rigid length which responds to every minute movement of her face.   
  
His fingers remain seated inside her, mouth taking a generous pull of her spend before lapping against her swollen clit. He could do this forever. He should do this again. Actually...  
  
 _Again.  
  
_ With renewed vigour, he begins a slow, rhythmic pump. His fingers delving into her anew. Tongue starting a new pattern of short little kitten licks to build her up again. The little thought of making her come _again_ has grown claws, latched itself into the only functional part of his brain and eggs him on to continue. To draw out another. And another. And another.  
  
He’s single minded now. Kitten licks evolving to long heavy laps through her folds. Lips sealing around her nub, drawing it back into his mouth to expose the little pearl and flick it with gusto.  
  
Her body bucks against his face, pushing her closer and he relishes in this response. Being utterly smothered between her legs. Pulls her closer, even. Grasps her tighter. Twists his fingers into her harder.  
  
“Ben,” she moans hoarsely, “slow down … I c-can’t.”  
  
“You can,” he sucks once for good measure, “and you will,” his tongue swipes flatly against the whole of her, “we’re not done yet.”  
  
He’d like to think that, based on the way she’s breathing raggedly, the way her body tenses and relaxes in equal measure, he’s doing a fantastic job working her up again. But he’s vaguely aware that his ministries are artless. More frantic and desperate than precise and finessed. That doesn’t stop her from releasing a steady stream of moans and curses.  
  
It also doesn’t stop her from finding her strength and lifting her hips off his face. Too far to reach. He pouts bemoaning the loss until he feels her body slide down his. Until his eyes open and he sees her straddle his hips in reverse and begin a sensual slide of her slick folds over his length.  
  
 _Fuck that’s fantastic.  
  
_ Fantastic feeling. Fantastic view. Fantastic _everything.  
  
_ She leans forward on one hand, the other reaching behind her as she lifts her hips.   
  
_This can’t be real.  
  
_ _Oh it’s real._   
  
He watches her line him up. Watches the tip of his dick part her lips before slipping inside. Watches her hips shift while she swallows him up inch by inch until she’s seated flush on his hips.  
  
His hands reach out to knead her ass, mesmerized by the way she looks impaled on his lap. Watching as her arousal coats him to the root before she lifts up to give him a glorious view of the delicious drag he’s experiencing courtesy of her tight cunt.  
  
He’s losing his shit. That’s what he’s doing right now. Every single one of his approximately 86 billion neurons sizzles and misfires, short circuiting every coherent thought and reducing him to a blubblering mess of lusty sensation.  
  
He’s losing his shit watching her pussy gobble him up. Watching her gyrate and grind against him while she moans a symphony for him. A symphony keeping time with the slaps of skin. Sweetened by the wet clicking of her arousal and the scent of sex filling the air. Watches her roll her hips and set a languid pace riding his cock. And he’s absolutely helpless.  
  
Helpless to do anything but hold on to her hips and help her extract her pleasure. _Their_ pleasure. Helpless to do anything but watch and experience and feel and make the most pathetic of needy noises as she draws him closer and closer to orgasm until he’s hanging on by a thread.  
  
“Come,” he rasps incoherently, “c-come … _fuck_ … c-can you … _aah_ … come again?”  
  
He thinks he sees her head bob in a nod. At least that’s what it looks like. So he makes use of his unnaturally long arms to loop one around her front and start working her clit in messy swipes. Gritting his teeth in an effort to stave off his own orgasm to catch her up.  
  
His breathing is ragged and he’s hanging on by the thinnest of threads when he feels the tell tale flutters beginning. Relief washes over him as he swipes once, twice, three times messily over her, coaxing her over the edge.  
  
And when he feels her tighten, when he feels her walls pulling him further and her orgasm wash over in earnest, he lets go too. A mindless, incomprehensible bubble of white and sharp sensation forming around them as they both shudder and twitch, raggedly gasping for air and grind against each other to completion.  
  
Her hands hold his thighs in an iron grip, jerking from the force of her climax. It might hurt if his brain wasn’t so completely scrambled. Then again, perhaps the forceful grip with which he’s pinning her down on his lap to thrust small little pulses up into her might also be leaving bruises. He’s not really sure with how light headed he is right now.  
  
Is it minutes? Seconds? Hours?  
  
He doesn’t know. When his brain has stopped misfiring and he’s got enough brain cells to form a coherent thought, he reaches over to pull her to his chest. Softening cock slipping out in a wet squelch and he feels his spend dripping out of her against his thigh where he’s nestled her pliant body.  
  
“We need to start every morning like this,” he kisses her hair, adjusting her leg over his stomach and pawing for the blanket.  
  
At first she’s quiet, heavy breaths falling across his collarbones and forehead lightly nuzzling his jaw. Then … she giggles.  
  
“Is that a yes?”  
  
The responding nod sets him over a different kind of edge. One filled with love and devotion. One where every heart beat in his chest thrums and sings just for _her_. He peppers her head with kisses. Her forehead, the sockets of her eyes and the bridge of her nose. Bending lower to unleash a flurry across her cheeks and the corners of her mouth. Lower still to capture her lips in a long and languid string of kisses.  
  
The door chime sounds softly through his quarters but he couldn’t give a single shit. They’ll leave the delivery crate there only to be opened by his personal code. He’ll get it later. For now…  
  
“Sweetheart, let me tell you about Naboo…”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ... I forgot to mention. I also loafted on this chapter because I literally started writing 2 other fics. One's an unconventional A/B/O, the other a post apocalyptic recurring dream I've been having on and off for the better part of the last few years. 
> 
> So ... well ... fuck.


	22. Epilogue : 8 Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! We made it! _They_ made it!

“I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic. That’s such wonderful news, Rey,” Rose bounces her chubby baby girl on her lap. The little munchkin gurgles happily and coos one of those infectious baby laughs that makes her grin like a fool. She misses this stage. Even though hers were more stressful, it’s better than the constant patter of feet and incessant questions. She also misses the days when ‘she did it’ wasn’t a constant echo in their home.  
  
“The doctor mentioned it might be tougher…”  
  
“Stop right there, Rey! How old is this doctor? And how outdated is their training?” Rose admonishes, “it’s perfectly normal and perfectly healthy. He’s going to shit his pants. And then he’s going to kiss you senseless.”  
  
Rey smiles knowing that’s _exactly_ what’s going to happen. His eyes will go wide and his brows will rise and his face will morph into that awestruck expression she’ll never forget from the first time.   
  
Rose certainly has a point. The doctor she saw today wasn’t her usual. This one was older, a little rougher around the edges. A little more by the book and a lot less confident in the marvels of modern medicine. Definitely a non-believer in the use of droids, instead performing all the routine checks himself and thereby wasting much more time than should be legal.  
  
“You’re right,” she sighs dreamily, “so, how’s the _big_ baby?”  
  
She stirs her chamomile tea and taps her spoon on the rim before settling it on the little saucer. It’s a good batch. The best yet. Made wholly from the camomile they started growing on the edge of their property after the birth of the twins. She’d dried and packaged this newest batch in the tin herself before delivering it to the Huxes with a plate full of sugar cookies and a jar of homemade strawberry jam. Their strawberries were ready for harvest leaving them with much more than 4 could eat. Even if 2 of those mouths were insatiable.  
  
“Fuming at the ears as always,” Rose waves her hand nonchalantly, “some bullshit about noise bylaws for that new residential building the Resistance Corporation built beside the yards.”  
  
Rose lifts her cup to take a long sip, deftly avoiding her baby girls grabby hands. She’s good at this. Even as a first time mother she’s dodging Paige’s chubby grabby hands like an ace pilot through an asteroid field. “I mean … who builds a hundred story tower next to the welding pit? And who buys units in it? If you ask me, both sides are absolute moof-milkers.”  
  
Rey agrees, chuckling lightly at the Yavin-ism Rose dropped. With all the space on Naboo, why choose the most congested of industrial plots to build residences on. And, again, with all the space on Naboo, why purchase a small unit when you could buy a reasonable plot of land to settle on.  
  
The only plausible explanation is: those who’d originally found employment in the industrial complexes and come single. A bachelor wouldn’t mind the noise, of course. But a reformed bachelor turned family man? Especially one with a young child?  
  
That’s the human condition isn’t it? What you want at different stages in life is always ebbing and flowing. You’re always growing. Always expanding your capacity to love and give. It goes without saying that growth like that sometimes includes the acquisition of a husband or wife. The creation of a family...   
  
“Armie is on the resident’s side, of course,” Rose puts her cup down and bounches little Paige on her knee.  
  
“So’s Ben,” Rey agrees, smirking.  
  
“They’re like two peas in a pod huh?”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**8 YEARS AGO**

Ben and Rey boarded their shuttle bound for Naboo with their few belongings. They packed the few clothing items Rey had, alongside with a new, less drab selection of clothes for Ben, into a small crate and hauled it to the shuttle. It was, of course, piloted by none other than Poe Dameron. His fiancée Kaydel had insisted on coming along for the journey, which was fine. Rey had met her all of twice on the station and liked her immediately. The woman had a penchant for putting Poe in his place, a past time she could get behind. Leia, unfortunately, couldn’t be pulled from duties and neither could Luke. But Han had joined to help them settle in. They took a Lambda, of course. And with the miracle of hyperdrives they made it in 3 days.  
  
3 days worth of Han Solo’s anecdotes and mysterious card games whose rules kept changing in favour of one Poe Dameron. 3 days of eye rolling and giggling. 3 days of Ben’s face turning every shade of red and Kay shooting down Poe’s filthiest jokes. And 3 days of clandestine romps, complete with muffled moans and quick showers to erase all evidence. Of course, it goes without saying, Ben also had 3 days of clapped shoulders every time they exited their small private bunk.  
  
There was something about having the implants removed that sparked a new high in his virility. Maybe it was his way of catching up on 8 prior years they’d missed. Some testosterone fueled need to impregnate immediately. It was how she justified his insatiable appetite since that doctor’s visit. Then again, she was no better. After so long without him, the idea of keeping her hands to herself only lasted so long. Noble attempts to make small talk with the others while she found herself growing increasingly aroused by his mere presence.  
  
And then, on the third day, they landed. A smooth landing by all accounts. One that Poe, of course, gloated over. One that Kay, of course, shot down by pointing out that he wasn’t centered on the landing pad.  
  
Nothing could have prepared her for what she saw on arrival. Not his words, not his descriptions, not even the pictures and schematics he’d shown her excitedly that first morning in his ( _their_ ) quarters.  
  
After they’d been bound legally under the imperial system, Leia ended up insisting on (no, demanding) a traditional wedding which they’d conceded to have on Naboo. That seemed to placate her mother-in-law but only by a margin. She’d organized the shuttle within the week citing their wedding to be imperative to their future. That’s how they’d managed to fast track their trip, which was alright by her. By both of them.  
  
So when they made landfall and the ramp opened, Rey was immediately struck dumb.  
  
Before her the large open property sprawled endlessly. A white two story dome house with a beautifully carved wooden door and large paned windows sat in the middle. Behind it the curved shores of a turquoise lake glittered in the midday sun. Ancient forests edged the far lines of the property, leaving plenty of land to sow crops and harvest sustenance. In the far distance the grand towers of a city kept watch over this secluded oasis. The front lawns bracketing a wide stone walkway connecting the landing pad to the road and house surprisingly manicured.  
  
Later he’d admit to her that he’d hired someone to maintain it, but left it devoid of any landscaping because he wanted _her_ to choose the plants. He’d kept the entirety of the house a clean slate so they could add their own touches when the time came. Converting it from a house to a home.  
  
The inside was equally spacious with a large open concept kitchen and living area. The kitchen cabinets made of the purest white she’d ever seen, highly polished quartzite countertops, white with ribbons of grey. The living room contained a larger than life white sectional sofa, a brand new state-of-the-art holo projector, and built in storage cupboards spanning the length of one side. Around the wall of the staircase sat a formal dining room with enough space for 10. She’d learn (a little later) that upstairs contained a nook for a family room and 3 massive bedrooms.  
  
But what really took her breath away wasn’t the brightness of the space or the airy foyer. It was the sprawling deck in the back that dominated the view the moment the door swung open. An expanse of wood with the most perfect view of the lake, large empty planters lining the edges and two rocking chairs sitting unused under its awning.  
  
She’d kept her tears at bay. Biting back sniffles and sobs. Chin quivering while he anxiously gave her the grand tour. Fingers entwined and eyes searching for approval at every turn. It seemed, from his fumbling, that he too hadn’t seen it in person. That he too was equally moved, yet anxious for her opinion.  
  
He continued his tour while his father, Poe and Kay brought in two crates and whistled in awe. She swears she heard Han mutter something along the lines of ‘so this is where all your credits went’. But she wasn’t paying attention to anything but the broken voice of her soulmate as he guided her through the bits and pieces he’d collected for them over the years. The home he’d built for them, anticipating they’d be reunited even if hope had abandoned them.  
  
She had the wherewithal to keep herself together until he showed her the master bedroom. A gloriously large room with its own bathroom (bathtub and all), a four poster bed and the most magical view of the lake. In their closet, among a plethora of hand picked clothes for her neither had ever seen, she finally broke down in tears and kissed him senseless. They’d stumbled and wobbled over to the bed where they fell into each other’s arms giggling between sloppy kisses.  
  
That’s where they reminded each other of just how deep of a bond they shared.  
  
That’s where they’ll wake up and fall asleep together for the rest of their lives.  
  
That’s where two years later they would _finally_ conceive the twins.

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
“They really are,” she agrees with Rose, “and who would have thought?”  
  
The reminder sets both women into a fit of giggles. Little Paige squealing along happily.   
  
“Right?” Rose snorts, stroking her daughter’s chubby arm lightly, “after the clash of titans that first time, no one would have suspected it.”  
  
“I’ll tell you this, though,” Rey leans in conspiratorially, “they still won’t admit to the bromance.”  
  
It’s true. After the initial blow out between Ben and Armitage (Rose’s husband), no one in Naboo’s senate thought they’d get along. Some rolled their eyes silently while others bemoaned their squabbles. Others still took bets on how long it would take for one of them to get physically aggressive. A bet she’d learned about through Rose who had a penchant for milling about the senate building from time to time.  
  
She doesn’t blame Armitage for blowing up on Ben. Not even the slightest. She knows Ben came in blasters hot before the speeder’s engine even cooled. Bringing all his learning and practical knowledge to the roundtable full of aristocrats with manicured lawns and nerf steak dinners. _Change for the better_ he’d called it. But he didn’t understand that dirty fingernails and exhausted muscles were something you enjoyed only after you’d gotten used to them. That toiling in the sun was an acquired taste. One that the likes of the senate didn’t take to quite so easily.  
  
Armitage had been the most vocal of them all. Verbal battles across the tables ensued until they’d been separated as far as the room allowed. It wasn’t until Leia arrived for their wedding that Armitage warmed up to Ben.  
  
The event itself had been a small affair. Leia had brought a simple white gown which she insisted belonged to her own mother. It came complete with a jewelled veil. The entirety of the getup was too fanciful for Rey’s taste but this is what she’d conceded to, so she took it in stride. So with his family and a minister from the city, they took their vows on the back deck in the early evening. Naboo’s warm sun setting in the background and lighting up the turquoise lake in a rainbow of colours.   
  
Perhaps it was Leia’s notoriety. Perhaps it was her way of joking at Ben’s expense that eventually soothed Armitage’s hatred for Ben. The day after their wedding was the first day Armitage and Ben behaved like adults. Leia having extended an olive branch between the two (figuratively - their two olive trees still had years to grow until they could produce their first harvest) and invited the Huxes for dinner.  
  
Perhaps it was Rey’s immediate taking to Mrs. Hux. She and Rose stealing onto the deck almost immediately with Leia while the men, Han and Luke included, stood around the dining room marvelling over the blueprints of the new communal garden plans Ben had been working on.   
  
The ladies sipped tea and chatted about their origins (Leia & Rey from Earth, Rose from Yavin) while the men sipped some kind of whisky that Han had imported (read - smuggled in). It’s how Rey learned of Hux’s intense need to organize everything. Their wardrobe colour coded and perfectly lined up. He was the launderer in the house, refusing to let Rose handle clean clothing for fear it would mess up his meticulous organization. It’s also how Rey divulged that Ben was an overthinker. Leia nodded along in agreement as they formed plans on getting the two to see eye to eye.  
  
From there, a new truce was formed. Screaming in the senate turned to half hearted rebuttals and barely raised tones. Fellow senators struck mute by their changed behaviour. A few even losing hefty sums of credits in bets.   
  
One dinner invitation turned into another, then another. A merry-go-round of dinner parties that kept their countryside homes warmly lit well into the night. Sometimes they went to the Huxes. Sometimes they came to theirs.  
  
Slowly, dinners turned to daytime visits. Rey & Rose would dry camomile or bake while Ben showed Hux the ropes around their farming plots. At first they’d disappear for only a handful of minutes but, that too, morphed into hour long excursions around their properties. Hands shoved to the elbows in soil or farming machinery. Irrigation pipes exposed and re-covered as they walked down the planted rows.  
  
Slowly, those visits evolved into Ben disappearing on his days off to the Huxes. Stolen kisses in the mornings with ‘going to go over bylaws with Hux, be back soon. Love you, sweetheart.’ Eventually she’d learn from Rose that Ben and Armitage were working on new farming plots they were building on the back of their property. An endeavour they’d tried to hide from her albeit unsuccessfully.  
  
So on the last day of their boyish galavanting, Rose & Rey showed up with bags of potato, arugula, tomato and zucchini seeds, blowing their cover, earning them a crooked smile and a bashful shrug a piece. They’d clapped each other’s shoulders like boys celebrating a successful plan of protecting their treehouse fort from cooties and let their wives in on their secret. Together they ended up planting the seeds and sharing insights as they worked. Drinking Rose’s homemade lemonade and eating Rey’s sugar cookies under the midday sun.  
  
Rose still grows the best tomatoes Rey has ever had. They’re plump and juicy but have plenty of meat to use in cooking. Though their arugula didn’t take and was quickly replaced with much hardier cabbage. Also the best Rey has ever had.  
  
“They won’t admit to the bromance _publicly_ ,” Rose raises her teacup pointedly at Rey who nods again in agreement. That draws a small chuckle from Rose who’s shaking her head at their ridiculous husbands.  
  
Just then Armitage swings through the door, draping his senate robes across the small ottoman and placing his briefcase on top. Nobody _needs_ a briefcase anymore, Ben would say, Armitage just likes to posture. He throws a quick ‘hey Rey,’ a kiss on his wife’s and daughter’s foreheads before rushing upstairs to (presumably) change.  
  
“Checking the irrigation,” Rose rolls her eyes, “it’s fine, honestly. It’s always fine. But he’s got this obsessive need to check over every inch when he gets back from the city.”  
  
Rey laughs knowing exactly how that story goes from first hand experience. Proud of Armitage for having taken to the joys of farming.  
  
“I should get going,” she finishes her tea then stands up with the cup and saucer, bringing them to the sink, “if Armie’s home that means Ben’s already home. Who knows what kind of mischief he’ll be up to.”  
  
“You should,” Rose walks her to the door, “you have a big reveal on your hands. Comm me in the morning. I’ll bring Paige by and we’ll help you make more jam.”  
  
Rey nods as she walks away, turning to see Rose winking and waving, little Paige mimicking her mother with little wiggling fists.

  
  


…

  
  


When she opens the door the house is eerily silent. A lack of sound you wouldn’t normally associate with a doting husband and 6 year old twins. Of course that can only mean one thing - mischief. Her money’s on swimming. Ben’s been in the habit of taking the girls for swimming lessons in the placid waters of the lake after school.  
  
She lays her pouch on the console filled with baby pictures. Photos Ben had snapped and developed himself in the small studio he’d built in a shed beside their barn.   
  
Rey walks through the foyer of their home, taking note of the framed photos hanging on every wall. The children’s doodles plastered on the fridge and half finished finger paintings on the living room's coffee table. Multi-coloured blankets and pillows thrown every which way across the sofa and living room floor. So different from when they’d first arrived. So much more _lived in.  
  
_ She looks at pictures of _them_. Pictures of her parents. Of his parents. Of their wedding. Of their girls. A series of snapshots that tell the story of a happy family and a fruitful marriage. Images that carry a depth of love that comes once in a lifetime. One they grabbed and held onto in the face of adversity. Against all odds. Still hold onto after all these years. A love that the universe has gifted them. One that she somehow just knows will continue well beyond their mortal shells. Will continue infinitely.  
  
There’s two small plates with unfinished grilled cheese sandwiches on the kitchen island in front of two vacant seats. A grease smeared envelope with the twins’ school emblem discarded nearby.   
  
Setting the kettle to boil for another cup of camomile tea, she reaches to pull the printed paper out. 

_Mr. and Mrs. Solo,_ _  
__Jodie Solo has attempted to, for the 3rd time this year, eat art paste. Please be advised that the following precautions are being taken:_

  * _We’re going to be adjusting all art projects for her moving forward to include no paste_


  * In accord with precaution #1, we will be adjusting her sister’s projects similarly to avoid altercations


  * We hope you’ll have a conversation with Jodie in regards to appropriate substances for ingestion



_We sincerely hope you do not fault our teachers or droid aides in this matter and find our suggested precautions acceptable.  
_ _Should you have any further concerns or wish to discuss the matter in private, please schedule an appointment through our HoloApp and present this letter upon arrival._

 _Sincerely,  
_ _The Teaching Staff at Theed Montessori Elementary_

Rey chuckles to herself while she folds up the paper and pulls out her mug. It was a gift Ben had given her after the twins were born. A bone china mug with the words ‘best mom in the galaxy’ printed boldly across the front. She grabs her tin of loose leaf and tilts a teaspoon full into the strainer that’s become a permanent fixture on the mug.  
  
Though they named Jodie after her mother, she most _definitely_ takes after Ben. The very same Ben who doesn’t know Han told her about the glue eating incident. Or the booger eating phase. In short - both his parents had admitted (when she’d hysterically commed asking for help with the twins) that he’d been the kind of child that liked to stick inappropriate substances into his mouth.  
  
It was horrific to experience when the girls were young. Heightened anxiety over unusual behaviour and panicked calls to their pediatrician. Now, though, it’s just flat out funny. Maybe she’ll ask him where Jodie would get such an idea from. Watch his ears turn pink while he denies his involvement in passing down _that_ gene. Maybe she’ll tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear and kiss him afterwards before giving him the surprise. She likes his hair like this. Longer with a few grey strands starting to peek.  
  
The loose camomile swirls in the little strainer, water tinted golden from their infusion. She lifts it gingerly, tapping it against the wall of the mug to wring the last remnants of water out before bringing the mug to her nose. Taking a deep inhale and letting the soothing scent wash over her. Camomile helped her feel better last time, it’s helping tamp down her queasiness now.  
  
A squeal and a splash draw her attention to the open door leading out to the wooden deck.  
  
She shakes her head making her way to the folded patio door. Judging by the still warm sandwiches with tiny bite marks, they most _definitely_ didn’t wait 30 minutes before hopping into the lake.  
  
And sure enough, when she squints her eyes against the setting sun, there’s her big oaf of a husband in his swim trunks, two little black haired girls with hazel eyes and their father’s ears hanging off him like leeches. Chewie splashing around in the shallow end turning his fur into a right mess (he’s definitely sleeping outside tonight). Little Leia squeals, pulling his hair sitting on his shoulders.  
  
“Splash her daddy, splash her,” the little gremlin howls.  
  
Little Jodie is using his forearm like a monkey bar. Knees hooked over the solid muscle and fingertips rippling the water. That 6 year old bundle of joy, the one fearlessly hanging off her father’s forearm a slip away from falling head first into the shallow water, is the same one that eats craft glue.  
  
Rey sighs, shaking her head while taking a sip and enjoying the view. Watching her husband throw their girls into deeper water only to coach them back into his waiting hands. Watching them doggie paddle and attempt a breast stroke (still no breasts involved) gleefully towards their father.   
  
Those 2 little gremlins were tough to conceive. Rey herself was fine, having only had her implant for a handful of years. Ben, however, had had his in for over a decade. It was _his_ hormones that needed to be balanced. And that took 2 whole years of trying. Their spark never wavered and after a few tearful admissions from him (and some doctor’s visits), they indoctrinated a no-pressure rule. Sex was meant to be an act of intimacy and if anything came out of it, great. If it didn’t, also great.  
  
So sure enough, when they’d put the thought far out of their minds she’d woken up one morning to empty her stomach violently. Flying out of bed with saliva pooling in her mouth ready to coat the explosion of bile in mere seconds. Ben held her hair back a with shit-eating grin and an annoying amount of pride radiating through the bond.  
  
“This is it,” he told her. Like he was the fucking doctor. All smug as a bug in a rug.  
  
“Could be bad food. Those were new mushrooms we ate for dinner.” She’d felt the sliver of hope too, but the way she felt required her to bring him down to her level. Namely lousy.  
  
“Nah, I put a baby in you,” he’d said kissing her temple and flashing that toothy grin of his.   
  
So, 9 months later she had her body torn open by two surprisingly small girls who they’d promptly named after their mothers. She’d never seen what his love looked like from the outside. Always having been on the receiving end.   
  
The day those two were born was the first time she witnessed what his love looked like from afar and she doesn’t remember crying so hard in her life. Not when her nana died. Not when her parents died. Not when she thought she’d lost _him_ forever.  
  
The purity of love and devotion as he cradled the two burritos in his huge paws melted her heart instantly. His eyes wide with wonder, brimming with tears, and his mouth flapping uselessly unable to form words.  
  
She walks out onto the deck, letting the scent of honeysuckle and lilac fill her lungs. Climbers they’d planted on either side of the deck for their beauty and soothing scents. At least these aren’t making her stomach flip like last time. She takes her seat in _her_ rocking chair, nursing her mug of tea and watching her family play in the lake.   
  
Moments like these make everything worthwhile. Returning to her farming roots. Pushing Ben into political service in Theed. Spending days on end cooped up in the archives of the city learning how to care for chickens so they could enjoy eggs for breakfast every day. Conceding to getting a dog when Han and Leia showed up with a furry pup not long after the girls were born and setting their household into a tailspin.   
  
To this day neither she nor Leia will let Han live down bringing the dog at the worst possible moment. With two newborns, a puppy was the last thing they needed. Hence, Chewie is an opinionated mess that works on his schedule and his schedule alone.  
  
Tonight she’ll make spinach and lentil stew. Maybe she’ll hide some synth-fish in there to get the girls a little extra protein if she can mask it well enough. Ben’s clearly baked the loaf of bread she’d left sitting to rise earlier. They can finish that too. Maybe she’ll even clean some strawberries and drizzle them with corn syrup for dessert, though she’d prefer not giving them any more sugar so late in the day.  
  
Then, maybe after they’ve put the girls to bed in their shared bedroom she’ll take him out to the edge of their property. Over to where they’ve built a little gazebo beside the ancient forest. The area they’d released the colony of fireflies in that Luke had gifted them only days before they left.  
  
The weather is good. Favourable for a light show. Maybe, if everything goes well she’ll tell him then.  
  
Her hand comes to rest on her belly, patting lightly at the non-existent bump. Her body warm as it ramps up to cook another generation of life. Two heartbeats, the doctor said earlier. Another set of twins.   
  
Ben will cry. She knows that already. He’ll kiss her like she’s precious. Like she’s made of glass when she’s anything but. Like she’s the only thing in the world that matters. He’ll kiss her then drop to his knees to kiss her belly.  
  
If everything goes well, they’ll be boys. Then they can name them after their fathers. Han and Cody. That would bring the circle of life around, she thinks.  
  
Her hand reaches into the pocket of her tunic. The little crumpled paper she carries with her everywhere _still_ sets her heart aflutter.  
  
“Momma,” little Jodie’s voice rings out, “watch me!”  
  
She does. She turns her head to her family and watches them wave sheepishly before they grasp hands and let themselves fall backwards into the water. Ben and little Leia come up giggling, shaking their hair and wiping their faces messily. Jodie pokes her eyes and top of her head above water, ready to stalk her sister.  
  
She rawrs. Leia squeals. Ben grabs them both around the waist and swings them gently into the water.  
  
 _The spitting image of him_.  
  
Rey won’t admit that the little crocodile stunt is 100% her genes. Nope!  
  
Her eyes drift down to the little paper she’s started unfolding subconsciously. It’s her little reminder of how far they’ve come. Her little reminder of just how lucky she is. How precious life is.  
  
How much love has changed her for the better.

> _My Dearest Rey,  
>   
> _ _There are so many things I need to tell you yet I find myself woefully short on time. In light of the situation, I’m going to start with the basics.  
>   
> _ _My name is Benjamin Organa-Solo. Son of Senator Leia Organa-Solo and General Han Solo. I’ve lived on H.O.M.E station all my life. I was sent down to my great-uncle and great-aunt Owen and Beru Skywalker because there was a price on my head. A peeved senator looking to reclaim the seat from my mother through force if necessary which makes me a valuable target.  
>   
> _ _I am not Kylo Ren. I am not from Coruscant. That is the fabricated story my mother asked me to use in case I should run into others who weren’t family. For the sake of transparency, the name is a mixture of my maternal grandfather’s family name S_ _ky_ _walker, my father’s family name So_ _lo_ _, and a letter switch on my name (_ _R_ _en instead of_ _B_ _en).  
>   
> _ _At this point you must believe that everything I’ve told you has been a lie. The truth is, those are the only things I’ve withheld from you._ _Everything_ _I told you,_ _everything_ _you_ _know_ _about me is real. Every word I said is real. My_ _feelings_ _for you are real. My_ _love_ _for you is real.  
>   
> _ _I regret every moment I didn’t tell you the truth. Every opportunity I had to come clean but didn’t take. Because you deserve that. You deserve that and_ _so_ _much more. Sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky to be gifted a bond with you. I try to thank my lucky stars then realize they’re innumerable because the entire galaxy has conspired to bring us together.  
>   
> _ _You, my precious, sweet dose of sunshine. My beautiful soulmate.  
>   
> _ _I was lost and alone for so long. Looking out my window at the stars and yearning for adventure. Yearning for anything that would break the monotony of life on the station. The endless parade of grey. I would never have thought a farm in the middle of the desert on Earth could give me everything I’ve always dreamed of when I always looked for it among the stars.  
>   
> _ _The moment we bonded was the moment my life didn’t seem like a great big void. I now have a clear path and a partner to walk it with. I’m not alone anymore, and neither are you.  
>   
> _ _From this day forward I vow to tell you nothing but the truth. I will be forthcoming and honest. I will pay penance at your feet if you wish it. Because I love you. Because I don’t deserve you and fear I never will. Because I will spend every day for the rest of my life proving to you just how special you are to me. How wholly you have my heart.  
>   
> _ _I beg your forgiveness for my lies. For failing you time and time again. I can only hope you’ll find it in you to forgive me. To let me show you my love has no boundaries.  
>   
> _ _I’m leaving the paired comm and am ready to receive your full wrath. There’s nothing I want more than to hear your voice again. No matter the circumstance.  
>   
> _ _Please contact me as soon as you get this.  
>   
> _ _I want you with me now and always, and look forward to forging our new life together.  
>   
> _ _With all my love,  
> _ _Ben Solo_ _  
> __  
> __PS: I’ll come back for you sweetheart, I promise._

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I did a thing 👉👈
> 
> It's been a while since I messed around in Photoshop but it was fun to get back into it.
> 
> If you made it this far, _thank you_ , from the bottom of my heart, for following along on this journey with me. It's been a dream I've had for the better part of 5 years. I'd get it in snippets here and there. Sometimes they were the heart wrenching dreams focused on the separation. Other times they were the type that left me randy. Hopefully, now that I've given it shape, I can move onto others.
> 
> ❤️
> 
> Come say hi on the bird app: [@protonwrites](https://twitter.com/protonwrites)

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago in a galaxy far far away ...
> 
> A young Proton worked in entertainment tending bar. 
> 
> I recently found a bunch of stashed CDs I used to play in my car back then. When I shoved one in the other day I found a song that was the soundtrack to my life back then. Listening to it evoked memories of a recurrent dream I've had on and off over the last year. So I'm putting that dream into words and using my fav. Dyad as my core.
> 
> This is my dystopian futuristic Interstellar/Star Trek/everything space sci-fi mashup.
> 
> Inspo Song: [Tiesto: Here on Earth](https://youtu.be/R3DiXKMf4kI)


End file.
